A roadrunner sprinted across the foot of the driveway, lunging the whole time for an unseen finish line, Under the languid rippling of mimosa branches that looked almost tropical with sun-glutted leaves and flirty fuchsia flowers… And that’s enough of that. Today was hard. The older one began the day with a fever and the younger one ended the day with a fever, And I thought it a clever idea to start potty-training the younger one, But sweet Lord, the kid peed everywhere — the kitchen floor, her bed, a coffee table, on books, And I with gritted teeth told myself I’d hold out until five o’clock, but she was back in a diaper at 4:30, And I turned on the TV and put both of them in front of it and poured myself some wine and retreated to another room to read Stephen King’s The Long Walk, And Holy Mary, this is motherhood sometimes: Cleaning, yelling, progress, regression, kisses, tears, regrouping… But calling to mind, also, my village, the friends and family with whom I’ve forged ironworks over the last few years, and isn’t that God’s grace, too — the remembering that we’re not alone? I believe this. And so: The straightening of the shoulders, The nod at the young sunflowers standing stoutly in the breeze outside, And getting up and heading in to make dinner, because everything is going to be fine.
Running Sunflower 