Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers March Slice a Day Challenge! I’m slicing every day this month. Thanks for stopping by!
My house is quieter now-
unless the boys are wrestling or yelling at each other or singing loudly for all to hear,
unless the dog is barking
When they were babies, toddlers, preschoolers, I used to tell myself "you'll miss this noise."
I was wrong
I don't miss the noise.
well, sometimes I do
I do miss the cuddles, the chatter, the little hands, the weight of a sleeping child on my shoulder
the weight of a sleeping child on my shoulder
A quiet early morning
I remember when mornings started this early but with crying, or drumming, or a Super Friends DVD so I could sit with my coffee
I sneak downstairs early this morning, trying not to wake the dog
I tripped on a boot on the steps, and heard his doggy yoga stretch begin
I used to be scared of the dark
But somehow after betrayal, the dark isn't so scary
Outside, I breathe in the quiet and watch the dog sniff around
Until a strange noise comes from the darkness of the streetI watch my dog become more interested in the noise, and quickly bring him in
I've been expecting an owl
That was not an owl
I wait until the sun is up to try going outside again
The house is quieter
In this moment I am thankful for this mindful time to write
I miss the cuddles, the chatter, the little hands, the weight of a sleeping child on my shoulder
I love how you crafted this slice and used italic. The back and forth show so much. Thanks for sharing both your thinking and a format I may try as a writer, too.
Your poem is a magically crafted slice of life nested in a memoir. I love the format, the memories and the reflection which is strengthened because I have been reading your posts lately. I always read 3 behind me, 2 ahead of me and then other random new comers and familiar posts. You and I seem to be posting in synch this week.
Love the “doggy yoga” line. I think watching my dog stretch is almost as beneficial as doing my own yoga. You captured the moments we miss and crave as parents. Thanks for sharing.
Trying to guess how old the boys are now…wrestling or yelling at each other or singing loudly for all to hear… anywhere from 4th grade to college but I’m guessing 5th grade based on my own children. Beautiful poem.
Love, love, love this – especially the part about the dark. I so get that. I’ve not seen this format before and I really liked the flow it gave to your slice. You are so creative!
I love the feeling of a back and forth conversation, which, I really do in my mind sometimes — especially when it’s quiet. I also wrote about sound today…thank you for sharing your moment.
On a Thought 
I love how you crafted this slice and used italic. The back and forth show so much. Thanks for sharing both your thinking and a format I may try as a writer, too.
Your poem is a magically crafted slice of life nested in a memoir. I love the format, the memories and the reflection which is strengthened because I have been reading your posts lately. I always read 3 behind me, 2 ahead of me and then other random new comers and familiar posts. You and I seem to be posting in synch this week.
This is almost as gorgeous as you are.
Love the “doggy yoga” line. I think watching my dog stretch is almost as beneficial as doing my own yoga. You captured the moments we miss and crave as parents. Thanks for sharing.
Trying to guess how old the boys are now…wrestling or yelling at each other or singing loudly for all to hear… anywhere from 4th grade to college but I’m guessing 5th grade based on my own children. Beautiful poem.
Ha! 6th and 9th grade. 🙂 but somehow they still like to wrestle, yell at each other and sing very loudly. 🙂
Love, love, love this – especially the part about the dark. I so get that. I’ve not seen this format before and I really liked the flow it gave to your slice. You are so creative!
I love the feeling of a back and forth conversation, which, I really do in my mind sometimes — especially when it’s quiet. I also wrote about sound today…thank you for sharing your moment.
The weight of a sleeping child on my shoulder breaks me.