poetry

It’s no longer baby blues if you haven’t showered in weeks.

adult black and white darkness face

Mommy please!

No baby
mommy’s tired,
the edges of the bed
no longer exists,
and I don’t know how
to wake from the dead.

But mommy—

Oh sweetie, I wish
I knew how to pump life
into tired skin,
or how to answer
for six weeks
(or is it six months)
of crumbling within.

But daddy says—

I know what daddy says,
rather loudly I might add,
he’s been sure to remind me
that if I keep this up,
I’ll be a lonely stranger
to his new family.

Mommy please!

Honey please go
build a fort, or something
and later we’ll dance in it,
I just need
to close my eyes again
and lay down for a little bit.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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