Bird, apple, orange.
I’m happy to be torn. Into so many pieces.
They see me. Different directions. The refraction. Light on my edges.
The kids’ drip, drip, dripping faucet. The bathroom sink. My little boy is 15. He has a razor and shaves. My little girl is 11. She wears eye shadow sometimes.
They are growing up. I am going back. Collecting cars—Matchbox and Hot Wheels. Playing a handheld Pac-Man game from the 80s. Eating Skittles. Sipping Sprite.
Tonight, there’s no time. Just a mild, warm wave of awareness wrapping up all around me. Letting me let go.
On the bird my daughter drew for me. The apple and orange my son inspired me to eat. All the moments I have become.