#mompoetry

little baby feet pattered against your face

and inking your tattoos

and maybe the initial you wanted me to claim as well

I am 54 days late to suleika jaouad’s isolation journals. this is partly why i created the tumblr.  here is my variation on day 53 assignment to make your own version of william carlos williams poem called “this is just to say.” i was never a big fan of wcw-- but now during this time i’ve come to appreciate comfort in the everyday and in simple things. plus, it is just more writing practice, however terrible it is 

here are two poems:

i have hidden the barbies in a place you can't find them

and where you will probably forget about them

forgive me i can't take make believe and dress up and doll fights and the nonsense   anymore

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i ate a box of cookies from the cupboard last night and my belly hurt today

they weren't even that good but sometimes the quiet sleeping house and late hours of peace

My bed tells me how all of it can wait until tomorrow.

my mother likes to describe my beauty

as exotic.

perhaps,

in her eyes,

i didn't get right combination of irish

and eastern european jew.

my hair too dark and coarse,

my skin too light and mole covered.

my eyes an odd, speckled combination of green and black.

my eyebrows full

and my lashes

cast long shadows down my cheeks.

my cheek bones stretch for the sun

even if,

i'm 5 feet tall.

voluptuous.

because i once overheard

her call me chubby on the phone

to my father in the parking lot

of a figure skating lesson.

she laughs,

at the mustache she never had to deal with.

and can't possibly understand,

why i love the dark hair and moles,

my father gave me.

i'm not exotic.