Chunky

Mama's half awake,
wincing through the suckling 

Readily paying the price,
loved up with you.

Your cries fill the room 

interval after interval.

Past 4 AM, a rude awakening;
the pain is barely bearable.

Incredible

less than 24 hours on planet earth 

you're a master enchanter
turning parents to putty,
barely lifting a finger.

We who must tiptoe around

hold our breath as we handle

newly formed miniture bones

underneath the squidgyest of rolls,

folding, creasing,

receiving constant kisses.

Even your forehead is chubby.

Mama called you a little squidge.

The midwife christened you "chunky monkey"
How could I take offense

when all I saw was me.

Aunty Noora breathed her last

A few months before you drew your first

Mama loved her dearly

No surprise, the name lives on

passed down like precious jewelry.

Truthly, it wasn't my first choice
but love is give and take

and look how it grew (on me)

as all things must.

You lit up the room when you arrived

you burn brighter by the day.

live your truth; come what may

The voice, clear and straight, said "live your truth; come what may"

I knew what it meant,
'though,
more often I muzzle mine,
on occassion I rock the boat,
clear my throat, and something unfiltered falls out-

potent,
poisonous as porn,
but it was not my intent to pour scorn.

"Live your truth; come what may"
and the silver cord running through hearts, vibrates and hums.

So when drowned in thought,
I might feel the resonance, and pull back to something pure.

The distant ways of the boy.
Thinking less, simply taking steps.

Shame it fades,
obscured in the shadow.

"Live your truth; come what way"
the law of diminishing intent warns
you must strike while inspired,
the will to action wilts like old flowers.

The traitorous part of the brain
quick to bury an idea in scrutiny
scoffs at simple wisdom
"What is your truth today?"
and I had to concede my truth is as consistent as English weather,
but I smiled, at least it is not boxed in.

My heart is warmed by wisdom.
Shame it must cool and hibernate.

A creature of compulsive habits,
what is there to live for-
but the truth, underneath.