So, here’s another procrastination:

Home-Made Balm

Dear Anna, I was driving home with the baby tonight

(keeping him up later than I should)

singing songs my mama used to sing

draping them over him like worn cotton sheets

appeasement he accepted

with only the smallest of whimpers.

 

And I suddenly wanted

those old melodies to travel through space to you

a soothing, tender layer of sound

wrapping around your heart,

your mind

(whatever part of you needs solace)

 

Somehow, I knew those soft strains were traveling to you

and I became greedy to share

all the little comforts of my ordinary life with you:

The fact that my girl’s grown an inch in a month

the breathtaking curve of the baby’s cheek,

plump and perfect like a peach

the feel of the dirt in my hands

and the firm green wholeness of the iris I’m transplanting

 

Dear Anna, I send you this home-made balm with love.

Sweet dreams, bright soul.