I wonder if I made you


my loves;

ridden outside me by

the want for


The world needs

more Dreamers.



in the love language

it was,

you came to us;

conceived on the spot.

“Do you want to make a baby?”

He asked.

Unquestionably, Yes.

Two pregnancies like that.

Unquestionably, Yes.


Did I pluck her

from Starry Night;

dream her

crescent moon eyes

that turn down

cheeks on a smile?

“Let’s see something that

envelopes joy;

& tucks us in deep.”


Did I unearth gentleness

that snowless February

My brown-eyed budding boy?

One in five snows

and the solstice, warm.

“I’m going to ride a rocketship

to Winter,” he tells me.

Here on the ground

we are restless; harsh.

Not quite used to that stubborn sky

withholding our white light.

You tell Mama:

“Everyone in the world is gentle.

Like me.”

I don’t tell him he is dreaming,

because I am not dreaming



You will tell me

this poem is crazy

when you are older.

Insist perhaps

that you’ve made


Like baby photos

I will remind you:

who is who

what happened

why we were there.

Because when you are older

you may see war, or pain,

someone may hurt you,

or you’ll have yet to witness

a bright beautiful snowfall.


“Is the world still joyful?

Is the world still gentle?”

you’ll ask.

And I’ll answer you,

“Unquestionably, Yes.”

6 Responses

    • Wow, that is such a compliment on my poetry. I wrote it in a flash one night after a conversation with a friend who was telling me her neighbor, some 90+ yrs in age said she was watching the news becoming fearful of the world; afraid to come outside. I thought, amazing, even then… And so, I appreciate your words very much. That they resonate with even just one is special to me. xx

    • I thought it fitting to give a bit of myself with the thanks for Cere’s beautiful comment. <3 xx It is a crazy full circle poem though, huh? I sent it to Jessica with no reply-email-regret/edits lol which is so unlike me…


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