Slow Days

There are dishes in the sink (again) 
and a few piles of toys to take
back upstairs. 
There are books to return to 
the library and 
shoes getting laced on the wrong feet
by stubborn hands.

There are skinned knees (and hands)
needing a kiss before walking 
the rest of the way home from
the playground
and babies tucked under thick
blankets hiding from the cold
October wind.

There are my own tired hands (always)
wiping down counters after a
late lunch while tears disrupt
the sounds of laughter in 
the playroom - another human
moment of learning to get along
with each other, somehow. 

There is laundry hanging on the line (still)
forgotten yesterday, but for now there’s 
warm tea in a mug and tiny fingers
curled into my hair, the silence 
of a finally napping child
and there’s always wisteria 
growing along the side of 
old brick houses