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not a hair more // Than any person should need another person

Weightless you fly now, / gravity doesn’t grapple with you

You call me to wash your hair, cup bubbles / like Mary Poppins singing to her birds

One asks, // Are you going out tonight? / How my heart would sink.

silence // is a foreign visitor who, it seems, / has come to stay

The color of cotton candy, the airy batting of childhood. Pale, new, and fleeting.

we mourn Sonja swallowed whole / into the dark / of the wolf’s belly.

I’m proud that our latest issue is still doing what our founders set out to do: revealing and honoring the many faces of motherhood.

You are no longer Dorothy. / You are firmly Auntie Em.

I am a channel marking / a way

On the screen, flight 175 / and the South Tower on fire.