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Sheesh! That boy can EAT!
 
 
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He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping.
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Just wait until he awakens.
 
 
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Yes, my son has a temper.
 
 
—5:14 p.m.--
“Don’t take anything with you,” I say. “It’s dangerous.”
I curse the woman sending you to a homeless shelter.
Later, Thrice: “Every scar is a bridge to someone else’s heart.”

—8:00 p.m.--
Your whines, RedHot, still call to me from my bed,
From where your pillow-pressed lips turned earlier, for mine, 
The cold scrubbing our feet against the fabric butterflies.

—11:37 p.m.--
My feet are up on the desk, and it is not enough 
To smell like you. I’m eating those peanuts
You dislike, saving the ones with two per shell.

—At six a.m.--
I’ll ride the dawning trains clumped with churchgoers; 
And on our way back, I’ll pass you yesterday’s crossword puzzle
And promise I still haven’t looked at it.

Copyright Xiomara A. Maldonado 2009
 
 
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First bronchitis, now an ear infection.
Fifteen days of fighting with medicine.
Sleepless nights pregnant with baby's cries.
Postponed errands, yet cleaning feels impossible.
Thank God for Sesame Street songs.
I need some time for myself.

This week, my boyfriend's son decorated
My walls with bright blue stickers.
He taught Equis to say Daddy
And consistently asked for more cereal,
More Power Rangers and more books.
I already miss his grateful smile.

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Since Equis can't touch my laptop,
He tosses toys at it instead.
When Equis can't press Playstation buttons,
He throws himself to the floor.
His pants are soaked in medicine
Because Equis hates the pink liquid.

Between munches of his rice cracker,
My son's still whining this morning.
After tearing pages from a book
And slobbering an outlet plug cover,
He hands me a plastic doughnut
And laughs when I eat it.

 
 
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My Baby Boy Playing (Read Falling) in the Park