LANGPO MOMMY

Here is a LangPo inspired sentimental mommy poem - an oxymoron you say? Perhaps. At the Rosmarie Waldrop reading last Saturday (the last in this years Desert City series), I noticed the phrase "that is to say" sprinkled throughout her work. I was enthralled with Rosmarie's reading and began to "get it." She balanced narrative (no not the "I"!) with word architecture and play. I am in no way comparing myself with Rosmarie with the following attempt, that is to say, I really don't "get it," that is to say, oh hell, here's the poem:

this is to say
J.B. Rowell

i miss my babies
my babies are not here
that is to say
i am not there
my babies are
at school then
strapped in car seats
then sink hands
in mud
wash hands
eat bathe & sleep

my babies are not
babies: 3 & 6
growing bodies grow
nightly soul
expands pushes
inside fingertips that
push toward &
reach away

that is to say
my babies are older
& i am the one
their one
with answers
or rather none
my babies are old
souls and i
grow young
younger & shrink

this is to say
no choice for right
or wrong
home or work
just missing babies
i missed