Baby Book

Maggie Devers

I didn’t make my daughter a baby book,

I wrote her weird poems instead.

I can hear her explaining this to her friends,

“There’s no scrapbook full of memories

But there is a special poem about me being Athena, and one about my birth, and when I was conceived.

My parents named me after a fancy hotel.”

Dear God, what have I done?

I’m that mom,

The unhinged mom that really should know better.

We don’t have annual professional photos in matching outfits,

Just the ones we take, that stop time at the imperfect moment

The ones that capture life.

You can’t get the perfect shot when you’re busy living.

Well, you can, but you have to be ready for it.

You must listen for inspiration to strike.

And when it does you take the picture, write the poem, make the art, make the child.

And that’s what we’re here to leave behind, our creation, in its imperfect divinity.