Poems & Essays

23 Jan

Eight Counts

General/Column No Response

I love the way my son moves
his slender body to music.
Those stick thin arms punching
pulses in his sky, belly folded over
then bent in some strange contortion,
side & backward & those sweet feet.
The way they slide & jump. Glad for
the grin I get when I know he received
this rhythm behind a bedroom door &
it rises from his toes to dirty hands that
hold heavy bats & bottles of soda. Ankles
I could make small circles around with
my thumbs but now hoist his own self
across the monkey bars.

I remember eight years old.
I danced days around my mirror.
Summer spun in me like records &
I stored up snacks & sound for someone
else. Maybe this mom who opens other’s
messy drawers just to pour out her patience.
Waits for children to fall into place or
fly away. Now one is moonwalking
down a dirty dining room &
I’m in line behind him, happy
to hear my own eight counts.
Making everything up
as I go along.

 

Lorena Parker Matejowsky is a resident of Central Florida but spent her first thirty years in Texas. Her work has also appeared in Rust + Moth, Texas Live Magazine, Poydras Review, Poetry Quarterly and Texas Poetry Calendar 2015. She was a winner of the inaugural Museum of Fine Arts Houston/Public Poetry Artlines ekphrastic poetry contest in 2012. She was recently accepted into the MFA in Creative Writing program at University of Central Florida. Her poetic work is deeply informed by the South, especially its Gulf Coast, motherhood, narratives of feminine identity and faith. Twitter @LorieMatejowsky

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