Poems & Essays

21 Dec

Were I To Read You Mother Goose By Firelight

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Were I to read you Mother Goose by firelight,
perhaps the world would make sense again
and we could pretend to be right as rain
and then rain would feel right, too.

Were I to read you Mother Goose by firelight,
we could sink deep into this worn armchair
and whisk ourselves away to a place in the past
that only exists in my dreams.

Were I to teach you what I know of the world,
perhaps you would grow up to be like me
and we could live in the countryside
together, free.

Were you to learn everything I know of the world,
perhaps you could grow up happy with me
and we could break this genetic cycle of hate
cursed to our family.

Were I to love you as plainly, as boldly as now
for the rest of my fruitless days,
perhaps you will be a lovely peach
and we could dare to eat one together.

Were you to love me as thoughtlessly as now
through the awakening of your eyes,
perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.


On the creative process:

“Mothers and fathers tend to sigh and say “it goes so fast,” a guarantee which has led me to
attempt to live with my child in the moment. As a working mother, I only have so much time with him each day and so, during those hours, I watch him closely. Having that hyperawareness of his present state as fleeting allows me to see the poetry, the magic in his daily doings, and reflecting on those moments when writing inspires me to create the poems I do. Poetry for me happens like music: it flows out, an already formed being which needs cleaning but grew in my mind during the moment and simply requires release.”


Emily Light writes and works in Northern N.J. where she lives with her husband, her almost almost two-year-old son and her pit bull.

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