My husband is moaning with headache,
and I sit in noon stillness
and hold him close against my shoulders
till his breathing calms.
I do not move,
though the minutes do,
because he needs this rest and these arms.
And my ravenous boss
and the curse words steaming up from customers
and the deadlines and the hours
and the phone and texts
and the coming recession
are all screaming from edge to edge
of my psyche
that I’m off task,
I’m lost, I’m indulging in a luxury
and we both just need to suck it up
and keep working,
keep giving myself to everyone else
to achieve a higher reach,
a wider stretch of influence,
but I have decided to disavow
myself of the lies.
This is my family,
my life, and my right.
I don’t have a cradle or a kitchen
big enough to fit all the homeless and hungry
and angry and sick,
but I have this one hug I’ve been saving up
for someone just his size,
and he needs it now.
You can keep the infinite, exhausted sea,
because I’ve got my one starfish,
and he’s an ocean to me.
Backyard Apricots 