I should have stuck to
pipe cleaner children,
babies I could bend into shape
and stand in poses that are pleasing
I should have stuck to paper dolls
and magazine collages
and doodles on lined
Because I am messing up
these living breathing crying babies,
growing past me into
their teen years while I stumble on
after them, drunk on creation and
overwhelmed by how little control
I’ve ever had.
There’s no bending my eldest
to any shape at all. He will make
his own path if it kills us both.
He has made his own mind
and it is rigid as a wall, brick
and mortar and hardest
He has never been clay.
Heather Truett’s writing has been published in The Mom Egg, Tweetspeak Poetry, Vine Leaves Literary, Tipton Poetry Journal and the latest issue of Drunk Monkeys. She is represented by Peter Knapp of New Leaf Literary.