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poetry

Pelvis

by Ursula Crawford

You shook your pelvis
and they worshipped you.
Well, my seven-year-old hips
couldn’t speak that jive
but my lips
sang you ain’t
nuthin but a hound dog
over and over
to the picture of you,
pre-
white jumpsuit and
Las Vegas and
specially made fried PBJ sandwiches,
which hung on my wall.
you were sexy then, at
least to a first grader
looking back through time.
You were sexy
and they worshipped you
and then you were unsexy
and they worshipped you
and then you died
alone
on the toilet
our king.

Author’s Note: Okay, this is sort of cheating because I wrote this poem years ago. But I like it, and it is a busy Mama Bear day, thus far including grocery shopping, 3 poopy diaper changes, discouraging Baby Bear from eating a thumbtack & encouraging her to eat vegetables, my husband working all day on a Saturday after working all week, and as always — sleep deprivation.

 

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Spoiler Alert

tragic
downton abbey
all my favorites die
at least bates got out of prison
drama

I wrote two, so here’s the other.

Deep Gladness

my love
a deep gladness
from within, inside out
my sweet & silly baby girl
oh joy

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Surprised by Joy

at 3-months-old
you laughed, surprising me
with a full-throated giggle
when i unlocked the mailbox
and extracted a letter
so marvelous, you seemed to think
this little door
that opens to reveal
the day’s correspondence
so extraordinary, the ordinary
to a child, seeing it all
for the first time

Skills not mentioned on my LinkedIn profile:

Able to change a diaper while my daughter tries to crawl off changing table
expert at singing baby to sleep
can roar like a lion and quack like a duck
knowledge of 80+ ASL signs including milk, more, want
can type while breastfeeding
can survive months of sleep deprivation without hallucinating
possesses strength to carry baby and groceries and diaper bag up stairs
still remembers the quadratic formula, though not how to use it
able to give everything for love

Your first Easter

you wear a white dress
with pastel blue polka dots
and a matching satin ribbon
tied in a bow around your waist.
Suchaprettygirl
walking already, at 11 months
you toddle across the grass
in shiny black Mary Janes.
When you stumble and fall, arms outstretched
I gasp, preparing to swoop you up
and hold you tight.
Instead you brush yourself off
and stand again.

 

– UC

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IMG_1264 IMG_1263  I was excited to discover that April is National Poetry Writing Month. I feel up to the challenge of writing one poem a day for the next 30 days – without the expectation that any of them be good poems. I thought I would kick off NaPoWriMo with some zoo haikus. Baby Bear and I have been enjoying our visits to the zoo, thanks to the zoo membership that Grandma Silly bought for us. Baby Bear has decided that “roar” is an important part of her vocabulary.

Friday at the zoo
Marie saw lions and roared
my darling wild thing

 

 

 

elephant Lily
300 pounder at birth
a big baby girl!

 

One year later
By Ursula Crawford

One year later,
the tulips are blooming again
and I remember

how in birth
my body was ripped
open. Broken.
My strength taken.

Days later,
I can barely stand and I
dream my teeth are breaking.
I sleep in 90-minute stretches
and pray to stay lucid.

Slowly, over weeks and months
my body heals, my strength returns,
and I piece together a new life,
trading staff meetings for diaper changes,
adult conversation for baby sign language.

One year later,
my life, my heart belong
to you, the one
who grips my finger tightly
in her tiny fist.

In birth I have been made new.