Today was caught fingers and slipped steps, scratchy sweaters and paper cuts. I tried to keep it in check, fight the power of irritation, tiny babies crying in the ear, screams in the car, screams in the house. The dog is grunting and it’s enough to send me to a corner. I’m shaking. I’m a leaf, a wooden rollercoaster, a thief walking past the police station with a fistful of dollars.

Today was no extra belt loop and four extra pounds, no extra shoelace and two extra toes, no extra time and ninety five extra tasks. I am ready for rocks, tired of socks, hoping for a windfall and an island in the sun. I am behind the others.

Today was game five of the World Series and on the couch with my babies, I did nothing but watch. My neck is out of whack and there are cookie crumbs on my sweater. I’m Santa without the loot, but with all the gifts I need surrounding me. Today was caught fingers and slipped steps, but I kept walking.

 

Sarah Ghoshal’s work has been published widely in journals such as Cream City Review, Reunion: The Dalas Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Mom Egg Review, and The Moon Magazine, among others. She is a professor at Montclair State University and an Associate Poetry Editor at Stirring. A mom of three, a partner, resister, woman, entrepreneur, and Jersey girl, Sarah strives to find the normal moments in life, and the joy.