that becoming a mom has made me a boring poet.
Because all I ever write about is you.
All my observations realizations about the world are rooted in you.
I have found that once you become a mom, all other things are gone.
I’ve found that days are simultaneously short and long.
I have found that a grown-up can only see grown-up TV
on mute with the subtitles on.
I have found that even with subtitles I still get lost
and that it doesn’t matter anyway.
I have found that babies are fragile and fearless and we need more of both in the world.
And so I look to you.
I was so afraid of you.
Stopping to feel you
hands on big belly
full of doubt.
Ultrasound silence so long
worrying if your heart beat right
watching to find the beeping light
steady and strong.
Wondering what your eyes would do when you laughed
Imagining if you’d look like me from the past.
Too many questions
Too much maybe
Too much future to get stuck in
To be afraid of
Tomorrow today will be yesterday
No matter what I say
And back then
Back when you were not quite you
I wanted to say STOP
But I found myself in this strange space
Stuck and spinning
Lost in the centrifugal force of forever
searching through darkness
with tiny hands
you were not afraid.
you were not lost.
You were found.
And I find you amazing.
So maybe I have become a boring poet
But every time I write about you I learn things
And every line helps me make sense of what’s happening around me.
Sort of like
Yes you are just like subtitles.
You explain everything.
Cady Burkhart is teacher, mother, and sister living on the outskirts of Los Angeles. She thinks that ‘outskirts’ is a very cool word. Her life has been lived mostly on the outskirts: as a queer woman, single mom by choice, identical twin, and disillusioned daughter. She is happy that every day brings a new beginning.