When a baby is sick
All he wants to do is stick
More milk inside his stomach
And all throughout the night and day
His tired mother has to wait and pay for
The fever and germs that contaminate
Because the tired child cries often
(Though sometimes he softens
Just enough for a cuddle)
All I can hope for is
A lack of fever
I try to be the best
Smartest, fastest, most well-rounded
Hey, look at me, I smile
Cook, clean, check the details
I am a mom and need to be strong
Perhaps a little too much
Because this wasn’t quite
What I wanted or imagined
But it’s life.
I gave birth to nature baby.
He jabbers as we run outside, taking in the sights and sounds of the trees that we pass.
Sometimes he falls asleep from the rhythm and I can hear him snoring lightly.
I’m sure he dreams of sunshine and birds, because he is always in the best of moods in the outdoors.
When he is big and grown, I hope he’ll be running next to me as we tackle the big miles. His dad will be on his bike, keeping our pace steady, as we jump rocks and dodge branches in the forest.
For now, though, he is a nature baby.
It was a brisk morning, a hard morning
I woke up at six, let my baby sleep a little longer
Eggs and toast my fuel, double layers my warmth
We made it out, eventually
Just a dirty diaper or two, just a tear or two
Just a typical morning, just a jog
We made it to the hill, not so much a mountain
I worried about mud, I was right
The ten miles became nearly eleven and a half, how dare they
I ran comfortably, at first
Was up in front, felt like a speed demon
Two caught up with me, way too soon
But I ran well, felt the burn on the uphill
Tripped a little, took some foliage with me
And made it third overall, first woman
It feels good to race, sometimes
Especially when free massages. free beer
Meet you at the finish line
Today, I tried to go for a run.
Normally, I don’t just try – I do
But today the asphalt was hot
And I was sticky the second I walked out
And it was too unpleasant to continue.
I long for trails.
Right here in Medford
There are two kinds of people
The East and the West
Forget South and North
That is where the middle lies
Rich, desolate mess
We live by homeless
They speak louder in the night
For we silence them
I am sorry the days
When I cannot look, for fear
Takes me by surprise
What is it I think?
That their woes are contagions?
I am not alone
Most do avoid them
Could take us all, and I’d say
Good riddance, blind eyes