Someday we will look back on these days and say to ourselves,
In our cracked old voices,
Well, honey, I don’t know how we did it
We lived together for a week, was it?
And cooked meals together for thirteen mouths.
All those little ones running and needing and getting bellyaches
And tracking in water and grass from the creek
But still we sewed seven dresses together, didn’t we?
And our men got all that work done on the house
And we couldn’t stop talking.
Remember when we went to the lake, and the world was so blue?
And then the deep forest, the living emerald and the great stones and the sunlight?
The song of that hermit thrush, how clear and close?
We surely made a prodigious amount of kids.
They were all so sad to separate
And our men had their last discussions about practicalities
And we cried
That it was over so soon,
That it had been so good and bright.
I don’t know how we did it, dearie, all that parenting and working,
But I wouldn’t trade the gift