New year, new you
Is too much pressure
What if instead
We are fine wines
Aged, interesting, layered
Do not strip away the old
Clinging to another restart
Mistakes, failures, regrets
Pain, toil, suffering
Give you depth
They make you more valuable
Not less
The sweet aroma
Of perseverance, character, hope
This new year
I am a bold Cabernet
An elegant Malbec
An approachable Pinot
I only get better with time.
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I told Meme I like a wet crust
A child’s way of saying
A little fruit
A lot of under baked crust
She chuckles softly at my request
Her soft bosom pressed against my back
Holding me steady
Tip toed on an old rusty stool
At her aged linoleum counter
The old stove creaks
Groaning it’s way to 350
Taste of raw doe
Zaps the saliva off my tongue
Thirsty and happy
Meme’s soft instruction
Kneading crisco, cold water, flour
We make more of a mess
Than a dessert
Somehow it comes out delicious
My grandmothers magic
Afternoon snack of baked apples
In a flaky brown skin
A simple act now stamped
In perfect color from my memory -
Your blond head heavy on my thigh
Sleeping deeply in your baby way
In this rare, peaceful moment of time
I take a brief minute to prayLord, thank you this precious treasure
A gift much rarer than gold
This child’s value is too great to measure
Unlike a thing to be bought or soldYou grew in my womb
Creating you with God’s magic
A tiny egg in a dark tomb
An ancient, indescribable relicI want to bottle up this sliver of time
Put it on like my favorite sweater
Beautiful enough to be a crime
Staring at you like a long lost letterBabies don’t keep, they say
Cliche and sadly true
I find myself grasping anyway
I will try to let go when it’s dueThe weight of that is mine to bear
A mystery for mothers alone
To grow you inside out
Knowing this time is on loanWho you will one day be
Is both entirely & not at all
Up to me
God don’t let me fall. -
I see you, momma.
Those tired eyes that twinkle
Grasping for rest
scared to miss a moment
These babies will drive us
till we break
And bring out the best
from those same depths.
Racing to bedtime
And after the quiet begins
Yearning to kiss pillow cheeks.
You wonder about your self
Who you are, could be, will be
To these babies
Past the needs, the questions
Tears, tantrums, triumphs
You are enough.
Kacie B. Sharpe 