According to babycenter, you're the size of a crenshaw melon. Having never seen or eaten such a melon, this description isn't helpful. What I do know is that your kickboxing adventures have, frankly, gotten wild. Chiropractor is lined up for next week to create a truce between you and my skeleton.
A poem, "Ordinary Miracle," by Barbara Kingsolver, to start our day:
I have mourned lost days
When I accomplished nothing of importance.
But not lately.
Lately under the lunar tide
Of a woman’s ocean, I work
My own sea-change:
Turning grains of sand to human eyes.
I daydream after breakfast
While the spirit of egg and toast
Knits together a length of bone
As fine as a wheatstalk.
Later, as I postpone weeding the garden
I will make two hands
That may tend a hundred gardens.
I need ten full moons exactly
For keeping the animal promise.
I offer myself up: unsaintly, but
Transmuted anyway
By the most ordinary miracle.
I am nothing in this world beyond the things one woman does.
But here are eyes that once were pearls.
And here is a second chance where there was none.
No comments:
Post a Comment