Quicker than a snap chat image fades,
those mornings wrestling arms
into sweaters, arched torsos
into car seats, driving cross town
to the best you could do
and afford child care,
in truth, the only available infant
slot you could find,
the soft woman from India,
Malti, who rocked your baby,

fed her peaches in a swing.
Jumping off the side of the Y
pool. Knocking books from the shelf
so he could squeeze his long gone,
chubby behind into the nook
and nap there. One more
volume in a library too large
for you to ever amply navigate.

August 2013
Julie Ayers


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s