Katie Naoum
Mud Season
The edges of the day thaw too quickly,
become sharp, jagged,
like my children’s drawings or their cries.
My children. They are so very young,
so beautiful and difficult.
There are moments when new phrases they are testing,
eyebrow raises, baby-teethed grins
crack the icy shell of our monotony.
But the days are mostly a slog in mudsucked boots.
Haircuts, snacks, new pants. Demands
for all things. Lucky that
shorts can last two or even three seasons.
Boundaries blur to a soft down. The same
as the fuzz on the back of my youngest child’s neck.
My bed, my body, my breakfast – nothing
is my own. But this poem,
written in the last light of a bone cold Sunday,
can hold me over until the spring.
Originally published in MER 23
Katie Naoum is a writer, educator, and mother. She was born and raised in Michigan, spent over a decade in New York City, and now resides in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Katie holds an MFA in Creative Writing from The New School.