Boys climb over the couch fort,
bedtime t-shirts from dad sliding off shoulders and
parachuting around skinny legs
"Get dressed. School starts. Get dressed."
They hide in the shirts like turtles and pretend not to hear.
My inbox is still empty.
No news from the publishers, no response to my query,
empty but for the daily schedule Google sends each morning.
I delete it with out looking.
For the laundry, for school to get out, for kids to get in the car and buckle. . .
Two weeks until everything changes again.
A new home, a new place we haven't found yet.
We search for answers, but nothing is right.
and there's nothing to do but wait.
The waiting is like the sun; too hot the last few days.
It makes me sleepy. It makes me cranky.
But I keep finding myself sitting out in it.
While I wait for bedtime prayers, the boys,
wearing the huge t-shirts again,
lay themselves flat on the sidewalk,
bare legs and toes in the air, faces inches from the ground.
They pick at bugs; ants, rolly-polies.
I realize I could watch forever.
Orange sunset pours through the cul-de-sac houses.
They run the front yard and race down the sidewalk.
Some memories are worth waiting for.
The first time I feel movement inside me
At the doctor's, static from the heart monitor gives way.
Thump, thump, thump.
The sound is beautiful.