She Is

She cries in the night and I wake.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and pad quietly across the floor, through the living room, down the hall.

I open her door and see her face, twisted by the bad dream she is in.

I kneel down by her little bed and place one hand on her chest and the other on her face.

“Shhhhh,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”

She stops whimpering and her face relaxes. I keep my hands on her little body.

“Mommy,” she sighs, her eyes still closed. “Snuggle me.”

I crawl into the tiny bed, draped in a pink blanket with a castle and frog on it.

I lay my head on the pillow labeled PRINCESS, and she turns into my chest and drapes her little arm across mine, her delicate nose pressed against my neck, her little forehead resting on my chin.

I kiss her head and smell the watermelon shampoo.

Even in the dim glow of the room’s nightlight, her hair is golden; bleached by the sun and chlorine of summer days at the pool.

It falls across the pillow and down her back, over her shoulder, against her collarbone, and ends in a loose wave against the ruffle of her nightgown.

Her little face is soft and relaxed, and she looks every bit the PRINCESS that her pillow claims to be.

I brush the tendril of golden hair away from her throat, and kiss her gently on the cheek.

“Sweet dreams my little September baby,” I tell her in a hushed voice.

She seems to nod her head, and I crawl back out of the little space I’ve occupied for these few, brief minutes in the middle of the night.

I open the door and stand in its frame for a few more moments, taking in the sweet serenity of my child while she slumbers.

Here, in the darkest hours of the morning, I stare at this little marvel.

She is pure and sweet. She is joy and wonder. But mostly…most importantly…she is my light.

~ Erica Day McCarthy - 22 July 2019 - 2:00 am - San Antonio, TX ~

The View from St. Mary's Street

The sky's been gray and so has my heart.

The rain keeps coming and I think it will wash everything away,
but instead it just leaves everything muddy.

When it dries, little water spots cover my windows,
and turn my once clear view into a splotchy, blotted mess.

You've been away for months,
and what once was is different now.

This new normal of mine isn't normal at all,
and I don't know if I'll ever know it again.

But maybe that's the thing,
maybe it's always changing.

Sometimes we change with it,
sometimes we don't.

It's easy to remember the clear view of youth,
before all the rain and wind and hail and snow came.

Spring is here and winter is gone.

I'll wash the windows and wipe away the grime,
no need to complain about the rain.

The rain will always come and go,
the spots will only stay if you let them.

Normal is the moment and what you make of it.

Neither new nor old,
just here and now.

What I want.

What it can be.

© Erica Day McCarthy, San Antonio, Texas - 2 May 2019

A Mother's Lamentations

I screamed and she looked at me with wide eyes like I was a monster, and I felt like one;
Then her eyes turned fierce and she screamed back, her chin jutted, her jaw cocked.
We stared at one another, angry and confused and shocked and sad;
We both cried, and held each other, and promised to not do it again....
But youth and motherhood are at odds with each other often;
And the fatigue from long days, long weeks, long months can build up;
And whether it's two months, two weeks, or two days, it happens again.

At night I sat and grieved my response, my actions;
I told myself what I needed to do, how I needed to be;
I remembered my childhood, I remembered my parents, I remembered not understanding....
And now I get it all.
And even though it is normal - sometimes we have to cut ourselves a break,
We still hate ourselves for failing - failing us and failing them.

They'll never understand until they're older;
How much we cried, how much we hurt, how much we loved;
But I know tomorrow morning she'll awake and come to me.
She'll crawl into my lap like a little cat, and I'll wrap her up so tight;
She'll kiss my cheek and I'll kiss hers, and she'll look up at my face;
And in my eyes I hope she sees all the love in the world pouring out and over her.

© Erica Day McCarthy, San Antonio, Texas - 26 February 2019