THESE ARE A FEW

Sitting up
beats lying down

like a lotion rubdown
beats a dose of vitamins

like peach yogurt
beats spinach puree.

Mylar balloons
filled with helium:

even better than
a stream of water

that splashes past
your grabby hands.

My palm stroking your head,
your arms around my neck.

In the morning,
the baby in the mirror

kicking his feet
to see you again.

This week's mother poem is pretty self-explanatory, I think.

I spent much of the week working on Torah poems again -- I'll be offering a "sermon in poetry" at CBI on the second day of Rosh Hashanah -- and it was fascinating to move back and forth between working on Torah poems and working on a mother poem. Not surprisingly, the two inform each other. I think my mother poems are richer for my study of Torah, and I think my Torah poems are richer for this experience of motherhood, too.

This poem wasn't written in response to this week's Big Tent Poetry prompt per se, but you can check out the Come One, Come All post to see what others wrote.

[afew.mp3]