Because I'm Sick.

Papa, I sick sometimes.
I go to doctor sometimes.
I sick doctor sometimes.
Can I have fenedryl?
I have
I have
I have
Can I have some banana?
Because I'm sick.

Cause
doesn't always produce anticipated effect

A+B=C
C-B doesn't necessarily need to = A

Laboring words she attempts
to formulate sense,
logistical energy into one thought,
one sentence.

Like a two year old
I, too, labor.

Orthodoxy married and at the same time divorced from Orthopraxis.

Being as a way of Doing.

Papa, I too am sick sometimes.
Praying through the hours.
Medicine.
Fever of expectation released into
silence.
May I have, welcome deep darkness.
May I
May I
Can I rest in the vigilant cry for surrender?
Because I am sick.

Sip.

I sip.

Chamomile
Sleepytime

Preparing for the exchange of when
your right hand will
caress the very leading of my left breast

This body
which not so long ago could soothe
your body
within the very crease of this right elbow
supporting your soft flaky white skin
weightless in very same palm that
cradles this pen

Now your legs spill
                          kick
                          bend
                          wiggle off, past this waist 

The nourishment which sustained your
spiritual
emotional
entire self for so long
now only offers you sips of peace
                                               connection
                                               touch
                                               rest

So I sip.

Dried herbs
Calming flower petals
Promises of peace
Your skin

Chocolate.

There is no hiding the cheat

pungent air 
speaks volumes more than
taste ever will

How often the simple pleasures become
toxic

Song for my daughters.

Smart and Strong

That's the way we like em'

I Bend.

With a touch of my palm to your still so 

vulnerable head

May your spirit be open to receive the 

already available

peace of God

love of God

strength of God

joy of God

omnipotent presence of God

from the very top of your head

down to the very tips of your toes

I lavishly bathe hopeful reception 

into your skin 

The white door welcomes my departure

tells me I've done all I could do, should do

parental obligations, salutations complete

farewell, my love, until the sun awakes

Intuition halts the gravitational pull into

an independence awaiting

just beyond your bedroom door

just beyond the caring and nurturing of you 

into the caring and nurturing of me

This bending though

My fingers map their way back to her resting place 

spell "I love you" with three roads and 

I bend.

With the weight of presenting darkness

pressing stubbornly into the

very same core of self that, moments ago, sought escape

from responsibility

from caring 

I bend.

Folding this self in half

I find your vulnerable head

                    vulnerable spirit

and plant an impression of light

into your

winter chapped cheeks

vulnerable to the pull

bending into the arc of reception

Adoration.

It is you whom she adores

Your germinating mind
2 years
Scattered but
oh so focused
on the very next step

Securing your independence

Yet,
it is you whom she adores

By some stroke of ordination
you match
blood
counts
cells
evidence of the always 
which will continue to secure your
placement,
directly before her

It is you whom she adores

Her germinating mind
9 months
Scattered but
oh so focused
on the very next step

Securing her independence

Still, she chooses 
time and time again
to use her swelling perseverance 
as a means to make her way to
you

the one she adores.

A Peek.

It all began with a peek

a glance

a wonder

Mama, may I have a peek?

Go grab a chair and bring it on over.

She grabs wooden limbs that could, if requested

give you a peek

                   a glance

                   a wonder into the names of whose

fingers 

left behind traces of our

histories

What we ate

How we prepared

Whom we sat with

How we felt

Where we were

Mama, what is this?

This, my love, is vegetable soup.  Your Grandma's recipe, give or take a few changes.

Celery
Bay leaves
Potatoes 
Carrots

Roots that dug, 

fought passionately for growth and could, if requested

give you a peek

                   a glance

                   a wonder into the number of times you 

by misstep 
took a brother

or sister to their knees

into the soil of communion

Can I taste some?

Can I taste some Mama?

Absolutely.

With the same arms that held your body so very close as we
nursed one another through the first 
sixteen months of life
I reach into the hardwood drawer
pull out a deep welled bamboo spoon
dip
lift
provide yet another taste of nourishment
a peek into whole living
a glance into the the history that carries your desire to wonder

to peek.