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Again.
by Michelle Taylor
It is nearly one in the morning.
She has been asleep for hours in our bed.
Little hands tucked up under little ears.
I think it is not too many hours until she wakes again.
I stand and stretch
moving toward the stairs to join her.
But instead of passing you
I remove from your lap what distracts you and sit
straddling you as if I am the child.
My chin on your shoulder
My back hunched and relaxed under your hands.
I stay there unable to move.
Then I stand up.
Take off my pants.
You pull your pants off at my obviousness.
I sit back on you
moving
swaying
saying nothing.
I look around the room.
It is filled with toys and shoes
the clutter of our decade together.
Of our lives in motion
ticking
rocking
racing.
A life that I cannot remember a time before.
Together.
This chair.
This moment.
This love.
This lifetime.
Michelle Taylor teaches at a community school in Seattle and contributes the Mama Politic column. You can find her other work at Out Loud and The Living Classroom.
