Sometimes
I hit a wall
of barraging social media posts
about Meghan Sussex’s (née Markle) new show
and info overload
on parenting advice
and weight loss tips
from men
and emails with sales (!)
and political intensity
from both sides
it all becomes so much
for an empath
who hates social
but uses it sometimes
who loves information
but gets overwhelmed with too much
for someone
who reveres her right to vote
but doesn’t want to
stop loving someone
because we disagree
for someone
who loves a good sale
(not a bad one)
who wants to fit back into her clothes
and still struggles
even though
she knows
she’ll get back there someday.
…
Sometimes
I pray for a brain break
I want to turn everything off
and tuck an emptied brain
into a warm shirt pocket
or warm house slipper
like a friendly mouse
hidden from the world
but still there.
Is it too much to ask
if I could also
bring my label maker
and a craft room
and Spotify along with me?
And can I have access to my mobile too?
So I can text my gfs
cartoons like this
and barrage them with voice notes
about ridiculous comments
I’ve made
to fill a void
about times I wish I’d kept my mouth shut—
like answering a question
at a parents’ workshop
at my son’s school
about a job ending in “-er”
we’d like our child
to step into
and own
and I exclaimed
“butt wiper!!!”
When gfs text
we escape
our two worlds
and collide into one
we’ve created together
with shared laughter
and honesty
and zombie selfies
and recipes
and I knows
and try this
and that’s so hard
and I’m praying for you (and the sick child)
and cross the finish line and ring the damn bell
and promises to never say things like
you got this!
or you can do this!
bc sometimes we just can’t
Can’t can’t can’t
we say
banging our head
alone against a bathroom wall
or holding our sick babies
helpless
can’t do this anymore
go hide in a shoe
or a warm shirt pocket
where it’s quiet
but you’re still there
where nothing else exists
except a label maker
and a craft room
and music
you can belt
at the top of your lungs
for a moment
that hangs freely
from time
and to do lists
and should do lists…
and empty ourselves.
…
Shake our brain out
like the lint inside
denim pockets.
Let everything fall out
and start fresh.
I’ve prayed to do this
and I’m wondering
how to do this
without being so forward
or GD demanding
in my prayers.
Is there something else
I could ask for
or a different way
to pray?
I’ve come to the realization that
I’ve brought all my
tiny tambourines
and bells and whistles
into my very own
cozy slipper
like a hoarder.
Isn’t it weird
to think
it’s normal
to have so much
banging around our heads
(mothering in 2025!!!)
like dried watermelon seeds
in a maraca
where we feel
we need
complete abstinence—
and only prayer, song, crafts, and a label maker
(no? only me?)—
from noise
and the barrage of information
to find our center
and escape the rat-a-tat-tat?
Sometimes
I find myself
wanting to be a friendly mouse
in a cozy shirt pocket.
(I saved one just the other day. The boys in my house were chicken shit—Ollie wanted to throw a lacrosse ball at it and Matt wanted to leave it next to the box of poison bait—and I caught it in a salad bowl and brought it outside.)
I thought
maybe it just needed
a nap
or a coffee
or for the winds to shift
just enough
that it believed
it could
again.
(Actually, I was chicken shit, too, but I didn’t want him in my pantry.)