I am a good mother.

The other day I laughed

like an adult with my son at his claim

to everything he doesn’t have, to

let him know

 

the distance

between supper and bedtime

is a small universe

opened and closed

by desire.

 

I do not bury my faults

too deep nor water

them with confession. I have mattered

from time to time, and have

let him cry

 

when I am on my knees

in front of a man.

I have given birth

to thirst

and imagined

 

the things I want

because they are not there. Like

that boy in 10^th grade with nine fingers

missing the one (not that one)

I wanted inside me.