Poetry Train: Comma

Comma

Life’s paragraphs
build up
one after another

with the constant
patter of computer
keys typing

word after word
until pages
fill up and turn

and we never
stop to catch
our breath.

Then you called
with the news
of a second grandchild

on the way,
just a comma,
now, but enough

to make us pause
and think about
the future

and smile.

Sunday Scribblings for Nov. 17: I carry

Sunday Scribblings for Nov. 17

“I carry”

The first thing that popped into my head was a mother carrying a baby. The following poem is, unfortunately, true.
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She was addicted
to meth
so her baby was, too.
All day he swam
in a false
sea
of her making,
wave
after wave
slapping
him in the face,
choking
his brain.

He, finally,
washed up
on the shore
of life
gasping
like a fish
for more than
air

more than his mother
could give him
even though
it had been her gift
for so many
months.

Today
he is clear
but lies
in his crib
uninterested
in his
surroundings,
a gaping hole
in his dreams
that he can’t
satisfy.

~Linda Jacobs
November 17, 2007