Perspective.

Tonight as

i dealt

with teething twins,

(thus) crying all through dinner,

two toddler females

whose emotions

spent most of today

right on the surface,

but never so much

as right before bed,

a little boy who

wants me to read him

the Bible before he sleeps,

but i can't

because every swallow

brings pain thanks to my

raspy, raw throat,

and as i lay spread out

across the hallway,

with my head in my son's room,

my feet in my daughter's,

 chaperoning them  

into dreamland
(by tearful request),

while knowing

the ever-faithful partners,

Mr. Dirt E. Dish and Mrs. Loads O'Laundry

are patiently waiting for me,

as they have all

weekend long....

My weary mind waves me away

from my little corner

and

reminds me

of the corner that

another mother is sitting in,

a mother who has already

been through hell and back

(but barely)

and now her little timoun (child)

has Cholera.

AFP/Thony Belizaire

The little girl she loves 

has a name, a personality

but I don't know

what they are.

In fact, i only caught a

clip from the newscast as

i was

in and out

 chasing babies,

changing diapers.

Diapers of

healthy children.

The chasing of children

who have feet to

find fun and

the energy, freedom

and space

to do so.

Suddenly,

there is

no room for,

no need of

and shame for

the pity

i was on my

way to

wallow in.

For i have it made.
Seriously made.

And I wonder...

what can I do

for the woman

who does not

?
?
?