Twenty Something Years Later, And I’m Still Thinking About It

I stumble into it, on it, 
living room jumbled, 
Lego under my foot—
dark because someone
actually turned off the lights. God, 

give me patience. 
I told them to clean those up.
 
        Come here, right now.
        Take your toys and games,  
        go downstairs and play. Yes,
        together. That’s why we 
        had two of you. 

I hope they understand
I was tired as daylight,
flippant-tongued, burning
the everyday, every day, 
flared up like a slow-dying sun, 
the irony of parenting. You never know 

what it is they’ll hear. What they think they heard.
You don’t know how they’ll remember you.



Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright September 13, 2024, all rights reserved

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