Mamahood by Barbara Morrison

The poem that is in me Tugging like diaper pins Between the milky sweet Sleepy babyskin And stitching up bloody heads Rescuing and aiding the injured And spending the day Snuggling in a blanket Blueberry picking Meeting for lunch Canoeing, all of us The poem that is in me As he runs out of the bus And will never know that I cry With each small victory Knowing if he can do this I did it right The poem in his face Gazing up at me Weedling a deal Loopholing Striking a compromise And broadly grinning as he feels me Meet him half way.

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