The Good

At my 9-5 today, during our team's near-daily team-togetherness and playtime activity, we spent ten minutes writing about or drawing our current life story.  Not with any surprise, a poem came out of me.  

My muses: my wife, our two children, and our growing baby inside of me.  

- - -

The Good

Let’s start with her tanned skin,
and the wooden earrings,
and the way she sputters,
spinning to me
while picking up fists full of paint samples
in the Home Depot fluorescents.

Then let’s meditate on all of the ways we STILL make each other laugh.

Next, turn to the little blonde light switch
in the tire swing holding a platypus in one hand
a snail riding on the other
her hands full of rope
and the sun
and the trajectory of up and up
and higher and higher and higher and higher.

Then, wake up to that head of wild
grapevine hair – like a physical embodiment
of the hops she makes right into the bright
highlighted world. Her voice so loud
she is waking gods for breakfast,
selling moonbeams to rocket men.
She hugs into me like a big bang.

And there, right inside of me (OF ME,
can you imagine) a new daydream
is growing and expanding, extending, extremizing.
Like a lightning bolt bound inside of me
a new life is becoming.

How could all of this be mine?
The good.
The very, very good.


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