6

It stopped my heart a bit
With the elusive longing that flows throughout a life
Suddenly realizing
Desire fulfilled.

I read that verse
I must've read a hundred times.

And thought a moment
Of the infinite ways you know me -
My past, my fingerprints, what smells call up what memories -
And sought it out,
Twice, just to be sure:

I will know You.

As I am known.

My mind shivered
Into a thousand shards of wonder.
How can this be?
As I am known
I will know

You.

5

With your astonishing eyes
And bright smiles
And kissable skin, o children,
You are breathtakingly lovely.
But I want you to know
That there is another layer of loveliness
Which lies just below the skin
And its beauty
Is subtler
Hardier
Slower to alter
And much more permanent.
It's the kind of loveliness
That cameras can't capture.
It speaks a different language than Got2b
It echoes along your bones
And radiates gladness, comfort, kinship.
And once you encounter that layer
You'll see past the inconsequential wrapping
Of hair and skin and Colgate.
O my beautiful children,
I pray for the grace
To cultivate compassion
And thoughtfulness
And hope
And generosity
That your souls may be strong and lovely
Bright and irresistible mirrors
Of eternal gorgeousness.
I want to raise you
On a healthy diet of selflessness
Daily exercising joy and gratitude, flexing and stretching as you grow.
I want to be satisfied
As your love grows sturdy
For each other, your friends, all neighbours,
Knowing that I did not neglect to nourish your character
In the busy rush of tending to
Your needy bodies.
O my beautiful children.
My beautiful children.

4

My husband is a writer.

He shakes his head no, and says not lately.

I just get up, work, come home, play with the kids, and sleep.

I haven't written for months.

But there's writing, and then there's

Inking love into the schedule and skin with

The tireless unglamorous shift

After shift.

There's writing, and then there's

Getting through the brain-blank fog bank

Making mistakes and (FILL IN LATER)s

And coffee and coffee and one more cup of coffee.

There's writing, and there's

Family jokes and recipe-book food splatters;

Toddlers, gaggingly real and unbearably precious;

Dog-eared moments, underlined and pressed into skin.

Crafted with every shift, the turn of every key,

Printed every day without a backspace or edit.

My husband is a writer.