212 :: Nanny Girl


Her eyes are just like Harry’s eyes.
(Harry, her brother.)
So much else is different —
everything, really.

But those eyes —
they speak to me,
full of reassurance,
full of life.

210 :: Sunset


Deep in the heart of winter
there is a place that holds a memory
of mid-summer.
The heat of July
when days are long
and the grasses are thick;
when the sky is purple
at dusk,
and children must be called
again and again
to come in
to bed.

206 :: Simply


I have left my room and the piles of books and notebooks,
words and reflections,
for the soft evening light coming through the windows.

I’m reaching for simplicity —
but it still evades me.
I have no less than 14 books
and 6 notebooks
on my desk.
Stacks more lie about.
I intend to pare down and let go —

but it is so much easier to pick up my camera
and hope to take one beautiful photo of my children,
playing together at bedtime.

They move around me constantly all day long.
I am the sun and they are my little planets.

But now here they are,
in still.
Where I can look at them
when the house is dark
and quiet.

The mess that is my office
has faded away into the night,
and I remember that I simply want
to spend less time managing things
and more time with them.