I can hear the children
laughing in the other room.
My two girls and my two boys.
They are happy voices and
I struggle not to think about
the mess they’re making.
How technical this
homemaking can be, if I let it.
Cleaning, straigtening, laundry, cooking.
Everything must be just so.
But the babies, my sweet babies.
Their big brown eyes, their Father’s eyes,
Soft, chubby hands and sweet sloppy kisses.
If I must struggle to remember something,
let it be what is right.
(c) 1998 Shelly W. All Rights Reserved