Sappho on my couch

Croning in Sapphic meter

Lisa Patrell
Scrittura

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Inside Weather

Caramel velvet. Cushions soft. Arms rolled. Feet broad.
We sink three deep. Toddler plays hide-n-seek ‘neath
Legs I’ve bent as bridge for him below. Above
Breastfeeding hammock.

Latch is half suck, half hanging on. Four arms
I need. Reading picture books. Late day sun slants
Golden yellow ‘cross my face. Catch this moment.
Bodily conjoined.

Cookie crumbs and milky scent, is it couch or
Is it me or it matters not as bary-
Centered orbit spins. In space, circle I cast
Here. For them, For me.

Unmoored. Weeks long. We waited. Our couch returned
Twill gray. But then school became daily rhythm.
I was. Car was. One in same. Backseat chatter.
Chauffeur drives. Not seen.

Then, days the couch reassigned downstairs teen room
Their fights. Their games. Hushed most times I came inside.
Pillows flung about the space. Care not. Want not
Mothering. One day.

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Lisa Patrell
Scrittura

I am too old to be new, but not so worn that I cannot regard life anew in poetry. Other hours I hold space for people transforming & do things for our planet.