Funny that I know lots of Writermoms on the Internet but so few in real life. Then again, I know so few of anything in real life.
But I have been meaning to mention that I have an IRL friend who is also a writermom and on the internet. She is a poet, like some others I know, and posts some good poems from other poets too.
Here is one that I am trying–struggling!–to take to heart:
Cecilia Woloch — Slow Children at Play
All the quick children have gone inside, called
by their mothers to hurry-up-wash-your-hands
and only the slow children out on the lawns, marking off
paths between fireflies, making soft little sounds with their mouths, ohs
that glow and go out and glow. And their slow mothers, flickering,
pale in the dust, watching them turn in the gentle air, watching them
twirling, their arms spread wide, thinking, These are my children,
Where is there dinner? Where has their father gone?
You can find her at Both Fires