I’m trying to fill the last few days of April – National Poetry Month – with some poetry of my own. I’m hoping it will get my writing juices flowing again. I’m not sure about this one. I think maybe it’s not quite there yet.
Laughter From the Other Room
I was standing
In the kitchen,
Washing, cutting, cooking,
As mothers do.
I heard my children’s laughter from the other room
And peeked out to see their heads,
One dark, the other copper curls,
Bobbing over the back of our faded blue couch.
They were asking each other questions,
Erupting in laughter as response
Engrossed in a game
To which only they know the rules.
Two boys, together in their own world.
I was struck with the memory of children’s laughter,
two little girls’ heads,
One dark, the other golden curls,
Lying on a faded brown and black carpet.
We were asking each other questions,
Wildly giggling in response
Absorbed in a game
Entirely of our own making.
Two girls, together in that other world.
My mother must have peeked,
From time to time,
To see her children being children
On the living room floor.
How is it that I became mother?
Happy to be locked out of the game,
Loving the fun of it more
Than that dark-haired little girl could have imagined.