Our Tattered Robe
There lies a red chenille robe
in a cardboard box that I keep.
It is threadbare and tattered
from rocking my two babies to sleep.
Many years of rocking and nodding
are etched into that old cloth.
The sleepless night, the ring of laughter
and the joy of loving them both.
The bacon is fried. The grits are done.
The dishes are in the sink.
I'm feeding my toddlers their breakfast
and one just spilled her drink.
Runny little noses, feverish heads,
there will be no kindergarten today.
Mom is going to make it all better.
Dirty floors will have to stay.
Music recitals and basketball games
as they hurry on their way.
Wet morning kisses
as they greet a new day.
The watching of the clock
when her curfew draws nigh.
My pride in their achievements~
my pain when I see them cry~
Setting them free to become adults
was the hardest of all.
Because their are still my babies,
I want to catch them when they fall.
Soft bottoms have left their marks
and burps have made their stains.
In daydreams I'm wearing our robe
and I'm rocking my babies again
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
