a poem a day for a year #284

by Amy Turn Sharp


Sometimes I stand in aisles of grocery stores late at night looking at crackers and catch myself moving back and forth. It's the rock and roll of motherhood. It's the little song on repeat. I'm holding these children forever on an invisible tether. I feel the weight of the baby that is now a boy. Sacks of sugar. Flour. Gallons of milk. I see a woman across the produce section. She touches fruit and stares into the air. In tandem we act the same way.