Today was a sad song day
And I am alive.
I read a poem about love and tomatoes
that moved me to tears
And it’s raining now,
storming.
And I am alive.
Were I a different kind of mother,
the kind from movies,
I would wake you up so we could run outside and dance flailingly in the front yard as the neighbors peer through their slatted blinds, shaking their heads.
The storm has already slowed, though.
It always ends eventually.
The rain will bring tomatoes
and soften the grass between your tiny toes.
And I am alive.
How perfectly my aliveness fits my every me,
how much room there is in here.
If fill my aliveness to the very top, somehow it is never full,
there is always space for another swirling galaxy,
another thunderstorm
another sad song.
Tomorrow there will be tomatoes
and soft grass and tiny toes.
Today was a sad song day.
And I am alive.
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 11:52 PM UTC
Today was a sad song day
And I am alive.
I read a poem about love and tomatoes
that moved me to tears
And it’s raining now,
storming.
And I am alive.
Were I a different kind of mother,
the kind from movies,
I would wake you up so we could run outside and dance flailingly in the front yard as the neighbors peer through their slatted blinds, shaking their heads.
The storm has already slowed, though.
It always ends eventually.
The rain will bring tomatoes
and soften the grass between your tiny toes.
And I am alive.
How perfectly my aliveness fits my every me,
how much room there is in here.
If fill my aliveness to the very top, somehow it is never full,
there is always space for another swirling galaxy,
another thunderstorm
another sad song.
Tomorrow there will be tomatoes
and soft grass and tiny toes.
Today was a sad song day.
And I am alive.
Request permission to use this poem