The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Reaching the Shore of the Sea of Fertility by Anna Laura Reeve

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Children Are Not the Glue

A towhee says ‘sree’ somewhere
and I agree. Spring tips toward summer,
balanced on one knuckle and full
of pleasure.

Ten foamflower stems arc high above flat leaves,
open like kids’ hands, asking for something.

Putting thoughts of my 4-year-old aside,
I draw the breath that kindles
beneath my sternum, and re-enter the world.

How content, in this place, is each thing
to be what it is. Carolina wrens waiting for a calm
to sing their voluble songs.

Towering maples and hackberries solid
and strange as sliding boulders in the Sahara—
both speaking and secret.

Jays and mockingbirds not caring who knows it.

My heart goes one way, my body goes another.
Children are not the glue to keep them together.

The towhee pair keep a wary distance, always.
One chestnut brown, one boot black,
calling to each other.

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