your presence keeps inserting itself into my memories distant pasts that preceded you a trip to Nicaragua i vaguely recall you running on the beach of San Juan del Sur bay sand dancing out from under your feet my first trip to Thailand swimming in the sea off Koh Phangan weren't you there with me?
surely as an unfertilized egg some cells that would later become you a space in my uterus that would grow your bones and eyelashes.
did i ever exist without you? i recall you on motorbike trips through rice field-patched mountainsides i feel you there with me as i recollect lazy afternoons at Bellwood's Park.
were you the strength i found that helped me walk away?
were you the truth i found that helped bring me back?
all along you were there my tiny but mighty heartbeat.
the shape of you sleeping in our dimly lit room. you shrieking, chasing the cat pretending she is a coyote. chase me, chase me you run, narrowly missing every corner, taking the stairs two at a time, leaping off your stool each chance you get. you are most contented with: your dump truck a shovel, and mud. you walk into puddles as though kissing the sea. orcas can live here, you say on a rainy day in April about the puddle in our backyard. you spend all afternoon there despite the weather, hauling coffee-coloured rainwater from one end of the yard to the other. finding worms to show me, gleefully, running at me with your muck-splattered face. your right eyelid is still purple from Easter Sunday. lately, i’ve been dressing you in jeans and a t-shirt, overwhelmed by how old you look. you know, i see it all so differently now, my love. a muddy backyard, full of puddles and limitless potential. i see the dirt under your nails, a sign of time well-spent. i see you, moving that brown water, sloshing around the back of your dump truck over tree roots and all that muck. i see you, i see you, i see you.
i simply can't catch every moment
some are just too quick to pass
in a breath they slip right through my fingers
how i long though, to make each one last.
the sweetness of you at bedtime
the silliness as you run in the sea
the small hand in mine as we’re crossing the street
these moments i'll keep just for me
first giggles that came without warning
first smile as bright as the sun
tiny first steps I replay in my mind
the day that my baby turned ONE.
yet, the first 'ma!' was spoken, in what month?
first tooth popped when? i can’t recall
was it four or five months, you rolled over?
were you EVER (no really?) THAT small?
but, the first time you latched in the NICU
and the first night i woke to your cry
the first time i laid you in your papa’s arms
i can see without closing my eyes.
yes, i simply can’t catch every moment
i know deep down it must be this way
i can’t ever hold on to a past that you aren’t
for you ARE; you’re this moment, today.
mama musings 