The Natural Order
My maternal love is not
me saying Tuesdays
are the hardest because I don’t
see you for five hours and
can think only about seeing you
and your slack cheeks
and your uncertain neck.
It is not me talking
with other mothers at the park
while you build a sand world
beside us about what if one day
you were in school somewhere
and a man burst in, gun drawn,
aiming at your face.
My maternal love
is more like a shoe box
than a picture frame
by which I mean that my love
is practical and meant to store
things that are practical too
like that time you waved hello
to the moon or that day you pulled
an eggplant from the fridge
and cradled it in your arms
like I once cradled you in my arms
and began to shush it softly
softer than I ever shushed you
until somewhere in your eyes it fell asleep.
Sarah Viren's book MINE won the River Teeth book prize and is forthcoming in 2018. Her poetry and prose have appeared in AGNI, The Iowa Review, Guernica, and elsewhere. She teaches at Arizona State University. More about her at sarahviren.wordpress.com.
Image courtesy of Kai Schreiber