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Applesauce Woman

Poetry is, and should be, the essence of a person. Like a painting, a fingerprint, or the unique way each person's eyes sparkle, poetry cannot be copied or replicated. That's what I love about it. I write to get stuff off my chest. I write in the hopes that someone out there understands how I feel.…

Joy
dribbles out of your mouth and onto
your impossibly dirty bib
in the form of applesauce.

Your pink-gummed smile
wrenches my heart toward you
even as you thump your spoon
on the hard, blue plastic tray
that promised to keep you contained.

Dirty dishes fill the sink,
The remains of a breakfast well made.
Diapers seek changing.
The laundry sits in Mount Everest heaps
like some impossible task challenging me.
Just like every other morning.

And I am happy.

I am in love with your velvet skin
your tiny toes
your smiling eyes.

I love to catch you as you fall down,
Tickle your belly,
and sing you to sleep.

I want to sit here in vaccuuming bliss
and listen to you call me "mommy."

I want to read you the same story 16 times
and do it again tomorrow.

I'll bake you cookies,
sing you songs,
and know that for certain I will face exhaustion tonight.

For I am an Applesauce Woman.