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Sarah Munoz May 27
My daughter took off
Like a fledgling bird in flight,
Soaring over unforgiving ground.

I surveyed at a distance
As she wheeled in with the flock
Of afternoon bike-riders.

Holding my breath,
I waited for the scream, “Mommy!”
And visualized her skin scraped
Like a cracked egg.
But I heard only the pedals bearing
Her drive.

A few days following,
It came about: the first bike injury—
A ****** knee—ironically
Shaped like a heart.
She limped next to me as
I held on to toddler brother with one hand
And pulled her bike with the other.
She didn’t complain that I didn’t have
A hand for hers.

Once home, I bandaged her wound
As she preened her eyes and cheeks
From tears, begging to go back out and play.
I took a deep breath, nodded,
and nudged her back out of the nest.
Sarah Munoz May 15
Balayage sky—
Dark grey to blue,
We witnessed the transition
From spring to early summer
In the onset of a heat storm.

I called my daughter in from play
To our garage, a makeshift kid cave.
But the cloudburst had already reached her,
Sousing her clothes.
Her kid skort dripped like a pink rain cloud
Over her 6-year-old toes.

Meanwhile the sentience of rain and his sister’s glee
Spurred blue-eyed baby brother
To greet the waterfall
Caused by overflowing gutters
Atop our garage door.

With arms reaching upward,
Siblings zigzagged in the rain—an Ode to Joy.
And I surrendered
The overprotective mother
I was when my daughter was my son’s age.
I let my kids have their rain dance.
I soaked it in.
And then,
The thunder clapped.
A work in progress
Sarah Munoz May 10
“That feeling of ‘I want my mom’ has no age limit, no time limit, and no distance limit.” -unknown

My mother’s house, I once called home.
Ethereal and fleeting
I wished to crawl back
Down that graveled circle road
Under the blanket of swaying Sycamore trees.

Lady Banks and Pink Knock Outs
Frame her blue house in a nostalgic portrait.  

I wanted to crawl up the stairs
To my childhood room,
Be tucked into my thinned, hourglass quilt,
A calm, consoling mother’s kiss
Planted on my head.

I wanted to rest my mind
From this Adulthood,
For just a moment.

But then I realize I have become
For mine what my mother was for me:
My children’s sanctuary.
Sarah Munoz May 9
There are only two ways this can end.
Either Trump US
Or bring US back again.
Testing the waters. This poem arrived as a complete thought. Might be too political...I’d love your thoughts!
Sarah Munoz May 6
Follow me
Into the corner
Of my suburban sector.

The view of our neighborhood pond
Is obscured by tiny hand prints—
A sort of stained glass window.

Jovial squeals accompany
fast-footed thumping,
As sister herds toddler brother
From her enclave to his.

Their sounds are a heartbeat
In this otherwise quiet house.

Blanket forts and scattered toys
Barricade easy exits,
But there is no place I’d rather be,
As my children are the ones who bring
Life to me.
Sarah Munoz May 5
The breaths of my little co-sleeper
are as soothing as the ocean sounds
I use to lull him to sleep.
His lips form a dreamer’s smile
Assuring me his mind is at ease
In some sweet moment.
Sarah Munoz May 3
we walk on intuition
a root beneath earth
some sanctuary seed
listen
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