Mother Thoughts

The dark-eyed Juncos have returned
and the baby was born last night—on
the eve of our first real snow. I was
driving through a pounding rain--watching
the tug struggle under the barge of coal;
black dust lost in black sky, sky spilling
into river—when she called to say,
eight pounds and four and a half ounces,
and I could only pray to get home safe
as the giant tractor trailers sprayed into
my line of vision. Where are the lines
on the road? I told the boys what to do
if they ever run a car into a river (I gripped
the steering wheel tight). Roll down the
window a bit so the pressure on the doors
won’t trap you inside, I said. Who thinks of
these things? The oldest one asked. Last week
I told them how to put out a grease fire—a
fear I had as I ran six miles away from
the house and wondered if they would try
to make bacon while I was gone. Salt,
I said. But their dad said baking soda
was better. So I looked it up and decided
they needed to learn how to use the
fire extinguisher. The baby was born
last night. And the snowbirds flit about
the feeder. And the flecks of white
drift softly down…without a sound.



This week I'm sharing poetry with the community at One Stop Poetry for One Shot Wednesday. Join us? Find out more about it here.