Well, I thought I needed more poetry in my life, so I wrote some.  (By some, I mean one short poem.)  And subscribed to the Writer’s Almanac RSS feed.  I’m not done being grumpy with NPR, but it’s hard for me to stay mad a Garrison Keillor for long.  In other news, the girls and I have all had a simultaneous cold, but the suffering should be over soon.  As should school – two more days and exams for me!  Despite how ready I was for the end, it has snuck up very quickly.  And without further adieu or any more sentences beginning with conjunctions (don’t tell my English teacher)…here is the poem, incomplete, perhaps, and titleless as yet, but my first in a very long time. 

On my hip
is where you belong,
little one.
 
Between these hips you rode
quietly
for nine long
(short) months;
 
Through these hips you passed
Turning that long
(short) night
into morning;

 

On this hip,
now right,
now left,
you sit watching, learning,
reaching with your short
(long) arms
for what catches your eye.

 

In my arms,
on my hip,
is where you belong,
little one.