I really should be studying for the final I am supposed to be taking in thirty minutes, but it is a final for an education class and education is an art and a craft, not a skill that can be acquired, and since I possess this art already I don't think that studying will do much good.

So instead, I will sit here and indulge myself with some writing. How about a poem?

The Earth's Movement

Snot never felt so good as it did this morning when you kissed me seven times
to wake me up, your eager morning eyes were shining
and you were playing peek-a-boo, rolling in the covers.

You, Issac, like my only rising sun, you are sometimes all I see
when I haven't slept well
when I am tempted to dwell in personal misery,
all of life's mystery.

I had three dreams last night, little one.
In the first, a letter was delivered.
In the second, you and I were dancing in the snow.
In the third, I read the letter, and it told me that
love is the only magic.

And now you need to be dressed and fed,
so I take myself out of bed,
I stop worrying inside my head
and put shoes on you instead.

You have been the greatest blessing
to a woman who can't decide between a sandal or a shoe,
a woman who lives in other worlds more than she inhabits
the earth.

I've learned about the earth's movements, my dear,
you've brought this education to me--
how the earth continues spinning
and mouths continue eating
how this woman is but a small figure on a larger map
protected, sheltered
by her love and by yours.


Bike Riding

What is the world to you, little one?
What do you see, peeking out of your yellow plastic helmet, the one with
the ladybugs on it,
the helmet that falls over your head and jostles you to sleep?
Your alien resemblance in this piece of modern plastic with its apertures
humors me most deeply.

You, my little squeeze, are getting skinny and tall.
A blueberry-muncher, a diaper avoider,
a horse-lover, a miniature cowboy.

I ride with you under canopies of green.
You go "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh" over the bumps and rumps,
touching your nose and saying "noh!"
Holding on to your ears as though they are priceless,
convinced of your uniqueness.

Your fingers explore everything. Nostrils,
eyes, bellies, sticks and stones and
sandy socks. Your open mouth is
an excited squeal.

I will remember how we rode, you and I,
in the early summertime,
under the trees, when you were still behind me,
attached to my bike, my back, myself.

You are getting skinny.