She sleeps sitting up
Cradled between
two couch cushions
I toss her favorite blanket over her legs
Even though I know she’ll kick it off
She has her hands tucked below her chin and her knees pulled in
I lean in to hug her and kiss her little head covered in brown locks
And tell her I love her
I always hope I contribute to her good dreams
-Saschia
Under the covers with my baby on one side and my husband on the other
I think of my day and how I’m satisfied with most of it
Got a lot done, had a nap, and still had time to feed the kiddos
Even still,
I decide to wait till my eyes are heavy to write my poetry
Maybe it’s my thing, writing sleepy
If I’m tired the filter is tired too so I can just say it all
whatever it is I have to say that day.
-Saschia
I don’t really have anything left to say
I could write some happy bullshit
I could write the emo shit I love
But I don’t have it in me
Momming is all I have to do right now
Everything else has sunk back into the background
A penny in a crack On the sidewalk
A dollar bill blows
Tilting side to side the way a butterfly does but less graceful
The Receipts rested on a pile of trash in the bin
Collected by a man dressed in blue
The penny is still Wedged between two squares of cement
-saschia
Deep down %my sleeve and down my back is where the heart of this poem lies. I think I can reach it if I do yoga, then maybe I’ll clean the house and if that doesn’t do it surely I must need a nap. On second thought maybe I’ll start with tha nap.
There is a reason why you’re here
It’s to read this poem and to realize this poem’s existence would cease without you
It would be silent
A dead silence with the night air stuck in a place that never really existed
It would lack the chaos of us
Trees would fall into oblivion
I would fall into oblivion.
Without you,
there’d be no us
there’d be no poetry
You are the poetry
-Saschia
There is an untouchable us
An us the world can’t touch
We stay forever connected
No matter the pulls
No matter the tugs
After our many resurrections
We’ll always be us
One hand reaching for the sky
The other grasping our love
I’m hanging on
I’m hanging on
To the untouchable us
-Saschia
Respect her sacred spaces
her secret garden,
her desk,
her solitude,
her thoughts
let it be hers and hers alone
and when you do this you will see
a change in climate
-Saschia
But wait I’ve got more poetry here……It’s All History
I wake up chug a cup of water in my reusable Starbuck’s cup
gotta make sure I have enough milk made for the baby
sniff my pits and decide they smell fresh enough to skip a shower
I put on white leggings and look at my butt in the mirror only to notice
my panties show right through
So I pick a long short from my floral lined basket of folded shirts
I folded them when I was in the mood
I make myself sausage eggs and two pieces of french toast
this time for myself
not for the milk maker
I yell and scream about women’s rights then walk away
to fill another bottle of water
I pump for 20 minutes
put ointment on to prevent getting thrush
or from getting some infection I’d get from open wounds
and then gather Plath, Bukowski, Poe, Rimbaud, and [S.K.] Nicholas
into my bag
I grab my computer pretend to be happy
grab some pens and my keys and head out the door
I could take the Subie but I choose to take the Matrix
which is older and and smellier
so my husband who had the baby had a car seat
and I drive and I think about where I want to eat
and if I even want to eat again
-Saschia
my boobs ache and my nipples crack
millimeter by millimeter
I grit as they tread my parted crevices
and I allow it
bloody bleeding
I choose everyday to keep going
“it’s all temporary” they keep telling me
and as I wander off to dream my breasts fill
they weigh me down
down down down the spiral
I am a woman who is tied to her children
I am a woman who has bled on white carpets
on the white sheets and into the hands of strangers
But I tell myself this will be over
this will end
I treasure the moments like they tell me
As my tummy sags while I squat squat squat to a popular rhythm
I can only hope it lifts just one more inch
missed meals a drooping breast
my body aches it aches from sacrifice
for him for her for the good God almighty
my dreams wait and become impatient
they gnaw and cause un-lady-like outbursts
my faith in God dwindles
and it all makes less sense the more I give
and rest and give
the more I come alive
The church steps in but it’s no use
it’s too late I’ve nothing left to give
I have no care left
call me what you like
keep me in your prayers
but these bones have grown too tired of trying to get
you to understand what it’s like when you’re not around
