Category Archives: Poems

practice

I sit on the floor
and the baby comes close to me;
his hands pat my shoulder,
my back; he says,
“gentle, gentle.”

We are practicing
“no hitting” these days.

We are also practicing
“no whining”
“no screeching”
“no fighting.”

It is difficult to be
each other’s practice boards,
to be the place where someone else learns
how to love, how not to love,
how to apologize, how to forgive.

We all have to practice.
It is one of the things that makes family life
mysterious,
and on the days we finally learn “gentle,”
it makes life miraculous.

Lenten Jar

Our Lenten jar is a sparkling vase.
It sits empty Ash Wednesday morning
in the center of the table, waiting

to be filled. The kids aren’t sure
we can do it: by Holy Saturday
foil-wrapped bits of chocolate rise

above the rim, waiting
to be hidden, found, unwrapped, enjoyed:
a testament to the good works of everyone in the house.

baby feet

How can two feet be loved this much?
They make me weak, those feet.
The tops are smooth like rock centuries under the falls.
The bottoms, soft, ripe pears.
I love to play peek-a-boo with them over my eyes,
to hold them, squeeze them, count the toes!

He still plays with them and chews on them.
Now he stands on them and walks
around the house looking for trouble.
He sits down and puts his head on the floor between them
when he’s mad.

Oh, summer come quickly,
that we may cover those feet with kisses
instead of shoes!