Poetry Sunday: I Learned to Swear

Goodreads has published its monthly newsletter for members and it again features a "poem of the month" by one of those members. Her name is Pam Vap, and her poem struck a chord with me, as I think it might with many mothers, especially very new mothers who are struggling to deal with their new responsibilities. Responsibilities for which nothing can really prepare you.
I can just barely remember a time when I did not swear, when, in fact, the idea of my swearing would have appalled me. That was before fate sent two small human beings into my care, while a frustrating and demanding full-time job daily drained the energies that I would have liked to expend on caring for them. 
I made many mistakes with them. As I look back now, I seem to only be able to remember the bad decisions that I made in regard to them. I wonder how they ever managed to grow up to be such normal, loving, funny, and successful people.  Maybe their father had something to do with it. 

I Learned to Swear

by Pam Vap
I learned to swear
twenty minutes before my first child was born.
Since then, it's been a handy habit
to have around, and I expect God
to turn his head. After all,
he owes me one. It's a trick
to make babies look so good.

The truth is they leak.
And of all horrors, they grow.

They only speak whine;
they cry and complain and wipe snot
on their sleeves. They spill dinner.
They stir pasta into their milk cups
and squish spinach between their teeth.
They eat crayons and toothpaste.

They call constantly. They call
constantly. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mo-om.

They inhale money, bang down stairs,
and store dirty socks and sandwich crusts
like hidden treasures in their closets.
They lipstick walls; they swallow marbles.
They break things.

Yet, God (no doubt in his wisdom) has ordained
that these crude creatures
should sleep incognito:

I am fooled easily.

Each night as I tuck covers around them
and bend to kiss their sweet, sleepy faces,
I don't care that they used
all the silverware in the garden.

Let's fill the house with angels,
I whisper to my husband
as I slip between the sheets.


Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

Overboard by Sara Paretsky: A review

Open Season (Joe Pickett #1) by C.J. Box - A review