Laundry

I want to create.

To be creative like Picasso or Bach or Dave

or the guy in Times Square who bends

Forks into dragons.

I want to create.

The unquenched desire almost chokes me--

driven back into the belly

and I realize that I have created

children.

Children who need stuff like food

and clean clothes and love.

And while I steal away a moment

to let energy out on tablets of white

and blue lines Owen, three year old

Super Boy in Batman underwear

is riding my Ugg boot like a horse.

And I fight back the frustration

of responsibility and chuckle

at this creation.

While I day-dream about building

beautiful objects with my hands,

Judah is mad that life isn't turning out

the way he planned, that being five

sucks and nothing is fair. I nod

that in fact that is the truth, life

is not fair and we don't get what we want

because we are empty.

And I want to create.

To make lanterns out of wine bottles

and poems that give life or perspective

to those a few steps behind.

I want to pour out something beautiful

that is God made and be filled.

But Owen wants to help and be a part.

To chew gum with me. "Mom, are you

going to get me some?" And he sings

a tune and doesn't stop talking.

And motherhood seeps in, and he licks

my finger to draw me out of my page

with his saliva and gooey tongue.

I want to create.

Truth is, I have created people

which seems ordinary.

And Judah protests the injustice of life

with his backpack on his head.

And while he confronts his loss

BBQ flavored potato chips

make everything better and as salty-

sweet crunch permeates the room,

I need to do laundry.