a poem a day for a year #289

I'm sitting on the old red sofa with all the boys. They climb and roughhouse all over my new dress. It is green with blue flowers on it. I'm momentarily silenced. The fatigue is real and my cold cup of tea is far from me. I think about yelling some more to do homework, go to bed or anything that moves these lanky limbs from my belly. But I just give in and feel the rise of laughter, feel the punches traded above my head, feel the machine gun testosterone thick in the room. I feel it all. I made this. I made this moment. I am the queen of the little boys and my dress is very wrinkled. My eyes are very tired, but the boys hold me like God. They squeeze me like sugar.