sun on the carpet

The world has been moving way too fast lately, and I feel as though I haven't been able to catch up. The fall was hard. The spring was harder. And now, we're headed into summer, which I hope will just be nothing but lovely.

In these moments, I tell myself to breath. And, I hold tight to the little things.

Boy Beeton and I stumbled upon this Little Free Library on the way to a birthday party. These gems are scattered throughout our neighborhood, but this one was particularly sweet.

Mr. Beeton was reading poems by Charles Bukowski. I'd never read Bukowski, but I definitely had a clearly formed image of him from my graduate school days. I opened the book to this poem, which took me by surprise. Completely at odds with the poet I thought I knew and so expressive of my own feelings about parenthood. 

Marina
majestic, magic
infinite
my little girl is
sun
on the carpet-
out the door
picking a flower, ha!
an old man,
battle-wrecked,
emerges from his
chair
and she looks at me
but only sees
love,
ha!, and I become
quick with the world
and love right back
just like I was meant
to do.

Keep sweeping,

Martha

Read My Name Is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. Watched Carol. Watching Catastrophe.