Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Anchor Babies




Sunshine, my oldest: cautious,
daring. Nineteen, half-adult,
half teen…

Blossom, second born: stoic,
steady. Seventeen, going on
twenty-seven…

Blessing, first son: answer
to prayers. Thirteen, still loves
playing in sand…

Lucky, last born: surprise
gift. Eleven, avid swimmer,
adventurer…

They are my sunrise,
my sunset… My true north,
my deep south…

Without them, I am Titanic
crashing against ice burgs, Hindenburg
scattering fire across plain, tumble weed
rolling through high desert…

Sunshine!
Blossom!
Blessing!
Lucky!

They are my winds,
my tethers… My branches,
my roots...

My anchors,
my babies.