Gotta
Gotta hand it to you mothers
you can clean up poop
and pee and barf and still smile
and love your kid like
forever,
like a miraculous flower
never knowing how it will bloom
You don’t feel like you’re “babysitting,”
or having to “watch the kid,”
no, no trying on a role for you
it’s the real deal
until death and even after,
that small body full
of every hope you ever had for the future
Your mothering hands soothe the heart,
your gaze sees every bit of kid,
every fault and crack line
and loves right into the abyss
and beyond,
you mothers
gotta hand it to you