Above Ground

by Clint Smith

little one you are my daily reminder that you do not go to a garden to watch the flowers grow you go to give thanks for what has already bloomed.

Please, dear reader, do not say that I am hopeless. I believe there is a better future to fight for, I simply accept the possibility that I may not live to see it. I have grown weary of telling myself lies that I might one day begin to believe. We are not all left standing after the war has ended. Some of us have become ghosts by the time the dust has settled.

Ode to the Electric Baby Swing

as a parent (and grandparent) who has seen the swing in use, this poem is sheer greatness

I put you down, turning the bedtime routine into a Broadway musical like I was auditioning for Hamilton. I mean we got the bath-time song, the toothbrush song, the pajama song, the no you cannot have any more Ritz crackers song, the please don’t reach down and touch your poop while I am changing you song.

remain astonished by how cicadas live for seventeen years underground and then die within weeks of coming up to meet the world.

I fear everything I cannot control and know that I control nothing.

Ode to the Double Stroller

another great perspective on a piece of parent equipment that i can remember owning

on aisle five there is an incredible father running errands alone with his children.

Before I tuck you into bed you ask me what poets write poems about. I tell you a poem can be about anything.

Maybe treasure is anything that reminds you what a miracle it is to be alive.

Thank you to my children: this book was written about you, for you, and with you.