My poems never let me sleep,
crying loudly, waking me at night
pulling me from bed to fill them up.
They need constant reprimand,
always eating too much candy or
hurting the feelings of someone they love.
My poems demand my attention,
whining at my feet, clutching my legs and
reaching up to be held while I make dinner.
They make me brave,
putting on their little coats and
crossing the street alone–
knowing I am watching,
their forgotten mittens in my hand.