Navel oranges, their juice bursting in their skins
Painting my nails while all my boys are out
Bees busy in the honey-sweet blossoms
Sketching from a favorite photograph
Listening to Beatrix Potter stories while the kids paint
Reading The Count of Monte Cristo for the first time
Baby Girl’s movements becoming larger, fuller
For dirty dishes, witness
that we have eaten today.
For puddles of water on the tile,
the overflow of drink and wash.
For pies minus an ingredient
because I have little someones
to distract me.
For the shrilling of the smoke
detector reminding me of the many
meals that have spattered this oven.
For the tension knots knitting my intentions
with my imperfections, the clash
of wills, and the reaching
of limits that brings prayer
to my lips.
For night wakings and sleep
deprivation, a body that works
nourishment for a baby, and knows
the cost of loving another.
For crayon scribbles on the walls, library
books on the floor, laundry lounging
a basket, grapes smashed
on a table in abundance,
the abundance, Oh, Lord,
the abundance of this life
and of Your grace.