One of the most endearing and warming sights is a friend who works for the comfort of her 12 yr old whom I love. It has been a disheartening week, I am pondering this thing we call love, the futility of it, the differences between having the comfort of slow love over years and being alone, independent, safe.
Are we safe without someone sharing our life? Is it better to guard against trust?
Will I ever have children?
I know everyone thinks about this. Human range is limited.
But, few sights as beautiful as seeing my friend bake cupcakes for her daughter.
School Trip Nights.
For D and N, warm, laughing and whole.
This is the slow burn of loving beyond sanity
up at 12 eighteen at dark making
cupcakes for a daughter who couldn’t
get that recipe right
to not embarrass her in front of friends at school who
eat chocolate as if it were just there
as if tired hands didn’t bake till the eyes went hot and
This is the slow burning of love you carry to a grave
the desire to show your child what
a mother is, what a child is, what
this love can rise in your center like
hot sweet yeast
crumbling off the edges, a toil of last minute rescue for her wide eyes
this is the slow burning of love, after dinner, in silence
we smell the vanilla of her young smile in the morning
teeth brown and comfort,
this is love
this is a mother,
we bake and a child learns of the inside of a heart
a child learns of all that matters.