Return to Top of Page
Menu
  • Close
  • About Us
  • Contributors
  • Donate
  • Opportunities
  • Staff
  • Submissions
  • 20 Years
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Search Website
Literary Mama
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
  • Departments
  • Blog
  • Newsletter

Poetry | September 2009

Motherhood is cruel

By Molly Snyder Edler

Every morning, my 4-year-old son climbs
into bed with me and snuggles into my body.
Yesterday, while gazing up at me
he said in a croaky morning voice,
“I like your face, Mom.”

This is quite possibly
the strangest and sweetest thing
anyone has ever said to me.

Once we are out of bed,
he asks me, “Do I have school today?”

“No,” I say. He claps his sticky hands together
and says, “Yay. It’s a ‘Mama Day.'”

I’m quite certain that no one
has ever applauded at the mere thought
of hanging out with me.

When I pick him up from preschool,
he sees me from across the room, and immediately,
his eyes widen, he shrieks a little
and runs to me. “Mama,” he says,
burying his face in my neck. “Mama.”

No one has ever been this happy
to see me. Not even my dog
when he really has to use it.

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This Page

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Email
  • Copy Link

Molly Snyder Edler

Learn More

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Don't miss out on Literary Mama news and updates

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Instagram
  • RSS

© 2023 Literary Mama | Search Site | About Us | Staff | Submissions | Privacy Policy