Half-Time Mother

Sitting in the rocking chair,
window offering stark respite,
she holds herself,
aching to see,
their shining faces.
Half-time Mother
time measured out
in the best
of the rocking chair’s bows.

Once a mother
at all times,
in all ways,
divorce stripped her
of the job
she knew most.

Days when she has them,
she laughs, cries,
shouts, sings,
and, exhausted,
thinks of the day
they have to leave.

One moment gone,
the ache begins to grow,
but unlike the green softness
of a young shoot
pushing itself from the earth,
she feels the emptiness
of her womb,
as she passes empty beds,
and longs for the moment
they run through  the door.

Divorce made a mother
into a woman of two lives,
one foot in either,
but never fulfilled,
one step draining her body,
the other her heart.

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