Filling the Vase

I used to stand in our galley kitchen, feet planted in tadasana,
peeling the tough skin from grapes and cutting the pulp into quarters,
and I marveled at my blessings.

Today I stand in the same kitchen,
haphazardly in tadasana,
making quesadillas
baking cookies
while the babe pops in
from the yard with
dandelions and clover
for my vase,
and then again
to say
“I love you,”
and again
with fallen
and I
still marvel,
how a boy
sends Time


  1. Lorien says:

    This is so sweet. What a wonderfully gentle way to convey the reality of motherhood.

    1. Amy @ Love and Be Loved says:

      Thank you, Lorien! I’ve been noticing how my perception of time has changed now that there’s no infant in my arms…it is amazing how something as abstract as time has such definitive impact. Thank you for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts. Many blessings…

      1. Lorien says:

        Isn’t it strange to not have an infant to carry? There’s a certain emptiness and a certain freedom all at once. The ambivalence of motherhood! I’m enjoying your posts, Amy. ❤

      2. Amy @ Love and Be Loved says:

        These latest have been interesting and sometimes difficult at times to piece together….funny when posting daily the poems don’t steep or sit or grow for long…. thank you for your kindness! !

      3. Amy @ Love and Be Loved says:

        Indeed, the perception of Time is an enigma! Many blessings to you!

  2. cynthia says:

    First, love the shape of the vase the line breaks make. This is lovely and full of blessing. The gift of food from you, dandelions and love from your child, is beautiful. The pose of tadasana is interesting and mystical. The element of time closes the poem nicely and adds more depth. Love this poem friend!! I am so enjoying your writing as always….Love and light your way….

    1. Amy @ Love and Be Loved says:

      Thank you so much, Cynthia. This was a fun piece to write. Different for me, yet familiar. It could have been epic, but I forced myself to follow the poet’s lead, not my own (!)

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