Samantha Reynolds - 3

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Henry

My kids call him Henry
the little sapling
that stands a foot high
on our forest path

he is mostly stick
with a few green wisps
of hope

and even though they measured him
this year and last
they don’t seem to notice
that he hasn’t grown at all

yesterday they gave him
a maple leaf for a hat
and ferns for shoes

like a pitiable summer version
of a snowman

and they hug him so gently
every time we pass him
leaning way down
and telling him

you’ll be big one day

that as I walked by him today
on my own
and I saw that one
of his flimsy arms
had snapped

I tied it upright
with a piece of grass
and found myself
whispering to him

you’ll be just fine.
​

Second

Parenting was made for extroverts

I was told about patience
and coming alongside
their emotions

I was prepared for less sleep
and less sex

I surrendered my hygiene
and my core

but nobody warned me
that parenting was made
for extroverts

that I would pretend
to have to pee
just to close a door

that I would ask my children
if we could play
the jail game again
where they stuff me between
two chairs
and throw a blanket
over me

and that I would tell them
even after their third try
to free me
that I wasn’t rehabilitated yet

I sat today
on the kitchen floor
back against the fridge

mommy needs nobody to talk to her
for a few minutes, ok

and I closed my eyes
fantasizing about the solitude
of ashrams
entrance exams
tanning beds

then my son slides
a piece of paper
around the corner

it has hearts on it
in green
which is my favourite colour
and my name
and his name
inside the biggest one

which is when I remember
that there is no balance
in a day
or a decade
but that the aloneness
will come
and I will savour it
and then
I will not.
​

I tell you that this is
a very exciting story

in the way that parents
talk to kids
to get them to do things
like turn off the lights

and then I whisper
that I once auditioned
for the role of Dorothy
and came in second

I’ve been meaning to tell you this
ever since you fell in love
with the Wizard of Oz
so I tell you about the call-backs
and the way your granny
braided my hair

but it’s dark
because you turned off the lights
like I planned
so I didn’t see
that you were crying
until it was too late

I wish you had won

you sob this
into my body
not to comfort me
for this flood of grief
is for you

surprising us both
as it gushed out of the cracks
where your confidence in me
once held firm.
​

The Myth of Epiphanies

The myth is that epiphanies roar
when in fact they are more
like bubbles in mud

a whisper
a gurgle
a hunch

everything is small
when it is born
and so it is
that so often
they are buried
as so many small
things are

so you ask
the wise ones
how do you feed them
and they tell you

to jump

so you do
not knowing
if you are falling
or flying
because at first
they are
the same.

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Alarm Clock

I never click on those stories
the ones about accidents
the ones about kids

but I did this time
read it quickly
thinking perhaps
that if I did it fast
I would slip right past
the sorrow

but of course the grief
pinned me right away
under the weight of the rubble
of all the days he won’t see

it took away my air
as if I had swallowed something
too big

which of course I had
the impossible irreversibility of it

and they didn’t say much
about his family
but I know
I will think about them

on Christmas
on rainy days
on this day
each year

I will buckle a little
but eventually
I will get distracted

but not them

I read once
that people
in the ache of grief
don’t need alarm clocks for years

they want nothing more
than to stay asleep
dreaming of the day
before that day

but the sadness
comes suddenly
each morning
like being stabbed

the streets are still quiet
and she puts her hand
on her heart
where the wound
has opened up again. 
​

The Balloon

You should have been asleep
an hour ago
but you were hungry
and then thirsty

and you kept playing
with the balloon
you got at the party

putting my sunglasses on it
and my hat
and dad’s headphones
which did make me laugh

and now you insist
you’ll only sleep
if balloon
goes to sleep too

so you make a bed for it
on the floor
out of towels
which keep falling off

and at first
I play along
tucking balloon in
and kissing
his blue head

but the seventh time
you tell me
the covers
on top of balloon
aren’t working

I yell
it’s just a stupid balloon

and I know
right away
the night
has won

so when an hour later
your tears now dry
balloon cuddled between us
in your bed
you ask me to tell you both
another story

I kiss balloon again
and whisper
​
this one’s for you.
​

Twitchy Servant

This must have been
what it was like
in medieval times
a young princess
flocks of twitchy servants
trying to read her mood
 
this morning
laughing was banned
and now socks
are forbidden
 
last night
I didn’t know
about the pillows
and I sat on one
 
she screamed
no
and I jumped up
quick to obey
to stop the sound of her yell
that scraped the inside
 
of my head
and it must have been this way
with royal offspring
except she might have
stomped and shouted
 
off with head
for the pillow infraction perhaps
or for not finding the right pen
or when the balloon popped
and I couldn’t put it
back together
 
and maybe the next day
lopped head buried or drowned
or however they disposed
of the guilty
 
the young princess would ask
for that nursemaid
and someone would softly
remind her what she’d done
 
and she’d realize
she missed her kind smile
and that time they slipped
in the mud and laughed so hard
they peed a little
in their dresses
 
and her heart and stomach
would tighten like she was choking
and she would look around
for who to yell at
 
bring her back.
​

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