I Still Want to be Mom

Forget what I said earlier -

it’s not really a thing I can

quit.

I mean, certainly, there are days

and hours and

weeks when my incompetence

comes to light. 

Actually, you bring it to me:

gift wrapped with good intentions and lost memories

covered in mud, anger, sticks, and grassy bits

or stabbed through with plaintive arrows of discontent and bad manners.

Still, squeezing the meanness of life narrows visions because you also

present:

playful antics, made up words,
cherries from the bottom of your slushy that

you probably sucked on but I eat them anyway when you offer them,

and

I’d just like you to forget what I said earlier.