Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Tightrope. By Anonymous

Yesterday was sublime.
Today I am shattered.
My son's sweet disposition
has been vanquished
by his relentless objection
to my every suggestion.

"Would you like breakfast?"
No.
"How about some fruit?"
No.
"Let's read a book."
No.

...and then the tears begin
and there is no end.
There are only more tears,
and snot, and screams.

Is it any surprise when
a voice from my past
whispers seduction
that I eagerly lap it up?
Do I secretly hate my life?

I love the warmth of my son's face,
how his head fits perfectly in the
curve of my neck,
while he reaches his small hand
up to touch my hair.

Yet I am constrained by my role as mother,
caregiver, and comforter.
I walk a tightrope between
euphoria and resentment.

Do you wonder why
I crave an escape?