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MILF poetry 5.5.8
"From February to Arizona: An Attempt at a Poem"
I standing here at my kitchen.
During the day I wash out sippy-cup juice.
At night, I don flowered panties which amuse you.
We whisper. He sleeps.
And I continually ask -- only to myself:
do you notice the steam of the dishwater
that dampens my breast (once milk-bearing)?
The dish soap bubbles, which fall childishly on my thigh,
do they call you to play, as my thoughts of your skin
do me?
While my child gently sleeps (my life creation),
are you able -- am I --to appreciate my latex-gloved
hand,
my sleep-deprived sweat which falls behind my ear?
As James Brown sings, I wonder if my womanhood --
my well seasoned, behind me now, reckless days of
shouting and broken curfews --brings forth the adoration
which was rightfully mine.
Whence once before you first encountered this little diamond.
Oh, it shines. Oh still and anon.
Bolder now for the blossom-birthed love which taught it.
Faceted by the lyrics and illumination it has of late
encountered.
And you: so seemingly unadorned
in this desert landscape,
luminous.
Will you rise to embrace
that which will savor?
For me, having borne it out alone --
strenuous, yet uncomforted --
I care not for your strength, but for
your constancy.
Ellen Baird is a faculty member and English teacher at Copper Mountain College in Joshua Tree.
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