#Micropoetry Monday: Realms of Motherhood

Vintage Anne.jpg

She loved her baby for who she was now,
not for who she might become.
She’d love her in all her forms,
for every 7 years, she was a new being.

The long-awaited child was an unsolved crossword puzzle
without clues to fill in the boxes.
Love & care were the only answers.

Every night,
her mother read her fairy tales,
nursery rhymes,
& stories just-so;
every weekend morning,
it was poetry from Frost & Field,
the fables of Aesop,
& artful science articles;
but it was when she read to her Bible stories,
like a Prophetess—
a Prof & Poetess of Fire & Lit—
that her child’s universe was expanded,
& her little girl saw her place in it.

He was the key,
she, the lock,
& when they were
fitted together,
they unlocked that door
of opportunity
called parenthood.

She was not unemployed,
but had been placed in a
permanent volunteer position, with a
job description that changed daily.

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