An August Evening
I did not get my kids to bed on time last night.
I did not study Socrates or American history or birth culture or feminism.
I did not watch any documentaries.
I did not luxuriate in the bathtub.
I didn’t write anything for my empty blog.
I didn’t figure out how I felt about much of anything.
I transacted in servings of potatoes,
And I established a bathing order for my kids.
I used my sewing machine
To sew one seam.
And it was a promise that I kept.
My daughter has a new skirt.
Simple. Easy. But it came in the tone of teaching and kindness.
It’s a tone that is scarce in the world.
It’s scarce in the hectic mornings of “hurry up-hurry up-hurry up-really?-put your shoes on-I’m going to be late again!”
I have a daughter, and I did not shove her off to bed so I could figure out what it means to be a woman
From the people I collect on paper.
I let my little boy ogle the moving parts of my sewing machine.
I put my existential crisis on hold,
To spend time with the people I made,
Who smile like I do.
It’s delicious when they smile like I do.