Afternoon Tea

God, You’re a funny lover.
What’s up with that?
What’s up with the way You
get me to ask You big things
like letting my year-and-a-half-old baby
sleep through the night for the Very First Time Ever,
and then You totally make it happen?
Why do You tease me with these things?
Are You sleeping while I’m trying to make love again?
Because if You haven’t noticed
it’s never happened since,
and it’s not for lack of asking.
He still acts like I’m all the world,
unable to sleep without Big Mama
singing his eyelids closed.

 

Ray was crying — not sleeping —
again this afternoon.
I put my palms on my baby’s cheeks and told him
“You need God, not me!”
I am worn like a canyon, and I don’t get the point.
I get that my hard times
make me all the more desperate for You.
But what about Ray?
He needs more sleep!
I’m his mother.
I should know.

 

Maybe it is I who wants to sleep.
Is that it, God?
You’re the one who can’t get enough of me?
When I’m talking heatedly
to You under the pillow
(so Ray doesn’t play with my face),
I can hear You answer in that funny way:
my teapot whistles;
another little boy retrieves it,
clicks off the burner,
and makes me a cup of afternoon tea.
In my favorite cup too.
I didn’t know six year olds do that.

 

I drink tea and write You this poem.
The boys are awake and they ask things of me.
We’re all awake hanging out together.
Cheers, You say, lifting Your cup.

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  1. I love this. It is precious. Just captured that precious moment you have now but won’t later. Some day these babes will be 22 like my own once sleepless mlittle man. Bring back memories of those days I once had. So sweet he made you tea.

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