Poems & Essays

18 Apr


General/Column 2 Responses

Mom says, on the dark drive home,
“Your father and I were talking
last night because I was weepy
sending a package to your brother,
he’s so far away.
And, anyways, I was remembering
a time when Jared was six,
Nathan was five, you were alive,
but still inside me.
And we were walking to the park,
I don’t remember anything specific,
just that I was so happy.
I was just
I loved being a mom. I loved,
I just loved.”
She trails away into silence
still saying things that words
can’t touch.
She continues her reverie.
“Then your dad told me about
when the whole family was camping
and Nate fell asleep on his lap
just like a leaf, just like a little
roly poly and then he peed.
And your dad
wasn’t angry, he
wasn’t upset, he wasn’t
anything except happy to be
a father,
in love.”
She stops and gazes out the window
I pretend she’s looking
at far away clouds
carrying snow.

Some day I hope to know
The things that mothers know
The things that fathers know.


Levi Andrew Noe was born and raised in Denver, CO. He is a writer, a yogi, an entrepreneur, and an amateur oneironaut. Levi won first prize in 2011 and 2013 in Spirit First’s international poetry competition. His most recent or forthcoming works are in Ink, Sweat & Tears, Connotation Press, Boston Literary Magazine, Crack the Spine, Eunoia Review, and Scrutiny Journal. He is the editor in chief and founder of the podcast Rocky Mountain Revival, Audio Art Journal.

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  1. Monica

    April 18, 2016 at 2:03 pm

    Yes to the final stanza. Yes to love and happiness. Thank you!

  2. sandra

    April 20, 2016 at 12:29 am

    Love this. So simple and beautiful.


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