Musings by The Poet Loriet
Snakes And Snails?
Early morning,
my boy bounces up the stairs
after his Cheerios
with a stack of paper
in his small hands
and offers me a pen.
"Here, mom, you can write poems,
and I can draw monsters!"
He folds himself to the floor
and concentrates.
His lips clench together.
Tufts of hair
unintentionally spike
with bedhead angst.
He looks up at me
in obvious admiration.
"Write, mom!"
I kiss his forehead.
He is my plot,
characterization and image detail
all wrapped up
in Crayola pajamas.
Lori Beal
my boy bounces up the stairs
after his Cheerios
with a stack of paper
in his small hands
and offers me a pen.
"Here, mom, you can write poems,
and I can draw monsters!"
He folds himself to the floor
and concentrates.
His lips clench together.
Tufts of hair
unintentionally spike
with bedhead angst.
He looks up at me
in obvious admiration.
"Write, mom!"
I kiss his forehead.
He is my plot,
characterization and image detail
all wrapped up
in Crayola pajamas.
Lori Beal
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Snakes And Snails?
Snakes And Snails?
