Lately
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I have been watching bright yellow blossoms
tossed by wind. When you were pregnant
I should have used more commas and fewer
periods. Today, watching our two children play,
I kissed the rocks they handed me. Yellow flowers
make all life possible—that’s my latest theory.
There are few things smoother than your belly
was then. Not the world surely.
Should we cut the flowers and bring them in,
or leave them out, rooted? Everybody’s got
sticky hands from something sweet. Rocking
into you, rocking out of you, as if those were
the only seconds our clocks counted. Lately,
I miss that fullness. I love this fullness.
I open and close my children’s scissors
in the air above our heads. I am only cutting
air. Whisk, whisk. I am stopping time.