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.