I used to write poems while I rocked my babies down for naps. No one naps anymore, so poems happen less.

But today I rocked my baby who is not a baby to sleep and a poem came right up to the surface. Missed this.


Someday when you are older,

you might think I care

only about the grades you earned

or the home run you hit

or the play in which you performed.

You will look over at me,

both of us beaming,

after one of your accomplishments

and you will think,

"She really loves me now."

Let's remind one another then:

I beamed just as brightly

on dreary afternoons like this one.

Thanks for this gift.

Anne FlavinComment