Good Love #1

Stolen moments strung
between acts in our
three ring circus.
We unfurl at dawn to the little one
singing herself awake,
and the elder carefully
assembling – not matching –
another uniquely flamboyant
outfit, the likes of which
have never been seen
in her second grade classroom.

A moment of caffeinated bliss,
the freshly roasted beans our brief escape.
We explore the terroir of the coffeelands
from our snowbound bed
and dream of rickety bus rides
through mountain tracts in search of
an honest Huehuetenango.

“Time to brush your teeth!”
in my screechiest mama voice.
Pulling up tights for the umpteenth time
on those perfect, plump legs.
A frantic hunt for the fancy shoes
with the bows, or the sparkles.

Then it’s the blur of day, transitions
bookend the time apart.
Not the type to phone at intervals, us.
Needs met during the stolen times
when I wrap my arms around you
and you can almost hear
the click.