Two Children on a Sunday

Gillian Kessler Poetry 0 Comments

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He is all elemental, stick and strength, born of my strong body, his muscles rest in mine. 

She is of mythic space, silky fabrics that stream, a soft hum of rhythm, music, she thinks things through, eyes pools, blue and deep, 
mind an eddy of questions, connections. When he loves hard, he bites, doesn’t yet get.

Her need for harmony, soft stream of fabric, thoughts deep in the mystic until he throws himself on top of her, clings to the current and they wrestle and roll,  their fierce eddy of connection, the bite, the fervor and hard love of our mothers and fathers, driftwood histories and stories smoothed like small bits of stone. 

He throws his love at me, clings to the current, wild haired abandon, voice dissonant, loud while she innovates costumes, tunes, hours with scissors and paper, honors the mothers and fathers, driftwood histories and stories like stones, polished, altered, she sifts through her own, the suddenly leafless trees, gray dull of November, river still and low.

After hours with scissors and paper, costume alterations, headpieces, she says, Mama. I have a secret. I’m actually a mermaid with a golden tail…and she splashes her gold against the suddenly leafless trees, splashes light against the dull of November, across the still river, thick curls wet down her back, eyelashes drip diamonds in the early, quiet evening. 

Mama. I have a secret. I’m actually a transforming ninja and I have powers to defeat you, and with a few pow-pows, his mighty make-believe sword, he flies from the stairs, thick curls, wild sprigs of rebellion, eyelashes drip diamonds in the early, quiet evening. Stay with me mama, stay with me, I never want you to leave this room. Never. 

With the assembly of another make-believe day, night, we land in the dark, 
feel our way, eyes pools, blue and weary,
stay with me, mama, stay with me,
all elemental, blood and bone,
born from this body,
the still river,
our muscles rest.

Read more from Gillian here.

About the Author

Gillian Kessler

Gillian Kessler can be found dancing to loud music, teaching exuberant children to appreciate language, writing in the early morning when everyone is asleep and exploring the wilds of Montana with her beautiful family. Read more about her eclectic and full life at .

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