Hickory, dickory, dock,

We  work around the clock.

Play and wash and prep and feed and change and play and nap and feed.


Toilet rush before the bough breaks.

A  baby  in a new mother’s lap

with growing arms reaching for the roll and now the  taps –

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,

Soon we all might crack.


The clock strikes one

and She arrives.

She soothes and smiles.

She coos and plays and gurgles.


I step and step and step until the body miles stack up.

Hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse wound down the clock.

Thoughts still before a time bomb bursts.


Hickory, dickory, dock.

She soothes, she calms and our doula leaves.

We begin again.



Asparagus Fern

If I could sketch

an image of four women would suffice.

You would see their hair,

black and dark and brown and blonde shining in the lights

of a bar where noodles come with noodles.

In the center there would stand

a casket of endgame beans


With dips and snaps and dips and squeezes

backtracking stories that wind and swirl and peak and ravel.

Catching up, filling in, listening up and laughing out.

If I could sketch you would see smile lines and glassy eyes, wide hugs wrapping you warm and best wishes wished and wished and wished and wished.

But my artistic talent long ago described

as a ‘ student who will always be happy’

can only ask you to imagine

a Christmas mantle, battery operated lights twinkling white through the lace of an Asparagus Fern

growing since that Christmas night


those four friends reunite.