Motherhood on the One Quiet Night

Today our truculent son left for a week.
Tonight my husband reads and, for my sake,
listens to music with the headphones on,
knowing I’m close outside, the windows are open;
knowing I pounce on quiet when I find it.

The grief: I cannot seem to move beyond it,
but in this silence I will try to save
some shred of this beastly day, try to believe
in redemption, and that I am not the beast—
voice tight, teeth showing, my hour come round at last.

Wreck and Restore Me

Once on a violent afternoon
I prayed Please take me apart, and soon.
I fear what’s before me,
and grow despairing, mean and hard.
Demolish and renovate me, Lord.
Wreck and restore me.

Habit by habit, flaw by flaw,
break and mend me under love’s law.
The work requires it.
Retrofit me to do your will.
Yes, I know it will hurt, and still
my soul desires it.

Straighten what I have ruined or bent
for years since I was innocent.
Help me be mild.
The good in me please amplify
until this boy and you and I
are reconciled.