“Scrub your plates,
And then the floor.
Wash your feet,
Then wash some more.”
Yet, through the filter
Of their brains,
The message shifts;
It’s not the same:
“Scrub your teeth,
With cookies, cake.
Wash the walls,
With homemade waste.”
©2020 Chelsea Owens
Photo Credit: Photo by JACK REDGATE from Pexels
Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
They weren’t supposed to be;
Then, Charlie chased Drew…
Now
Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
And Mom’s white, flow’r print drapes
Are green and purple, too.
©2020 Chelsea Owens
Photo Credit: sydney Rae
Please go, pick up your
Backpack, mess
Please go, pick up your
Backpack, mess
Please go, pick up your
Backpack, mess
WHAT, MOM?! WHAT??
Why are you stressed?
Why are you, just now, telling me
To get my backpack;
Clean my mess?
Photo Credit: Ratiu Bia
©2019 Chelsea Owens
Mother, may I play with toys
Play with your jewelry
Play with noise?
Mother, may I wash the house
Wash the dog and cat
Wash your fav’rite blouse?
Mother, may I break the hose
Break your antique vase
Break Brother’s nose?
©2019 Chelsea Owens
“Mom!” my sons yell at me, excitedly. “We’re making islands and I connected our island and there’s a really long island…”
I take in their muddy, sopping wet clothes and the redesigned side yard. And I smile.
I Didn't Want to Be a Mother 