A piece inspired by the poem by Padraig O'Tauma: taught to me during Wild Writing by Laurie Wagner
In the name of sinking into four inch memory foam at the end of the day.
In the name of a geriatric doggo completing the love sandwich on the bed, between my husband in his own creaky way.
In the name of waking to the sound of mature daughters who rise, rinse and repeat before mom or dad.
In the name of doing this all over again.
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
But wait, where are the women when we need them the most?
In the name of every form of spiritual seeking.
In the name of inhaling your neighbor’s roses like you’re doing a line of cocaine
when no one is peeking.
In the name of remembering I no longer have a mom on this earthly plane.
In the name of the grief rendering me to my knees, reminding me I am still sane.
In the name of tears that seem to appear from an invisible place to remind me
of the breathing and loving and feeling space.
In the name of surrendering babies and letting them fly.
In the name of watching them soar, rent apartments while I collect myself, exhale and sigh.
In the name of belonging and allowing what is to be completely. When in fact, there is no equation for how to do this perfectly or completely.
My feet at Menemsha Beach (aka where Jaws was filmed) last summer in Martha's Vineyard during my other writing retreat taught by wise sage, Nancy Slonim Aronie