Sunday, March 21, 2021

Mothering


Scout finds his water dish 
empty, he reminds me to 
fill it by batting it around.

Like every other toddler 
he eagerly loses himself
in all the glorious noise:

he's cocking his head
and bouncing his dish--
my little drummer pup.

Now I bring him 
a new bowl of water 
and he flings himself

into it, lapping, slurping, 
I'm stroking his head,
and my old body forgets 

it did not birth him--breasts 
spread like wings, tingling
like they did when I fed babies. 


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