the new you

Parenting, the source of love, a hot spring that burns you, that comes up between fissures in your soul and scalds you. It is miracoulous becuase you keep living, because you love it, because while you feel like this you are also doing mundane things like brushing hair and washing hands and saying "you can't wear them in bed, you've just worn them outside." And you hold and kiss and wipe and scold and laugh and warn and generally maintain safety protocals. You are the voice on the trian and they are aliens who've never ridden the subway, "Mind the gap!" "Don't hold the doors" "Don't train surf unless you want to die" "Don't laugh, dieing is not a joke." This is your life. But then in the middle of the night when you put blankets on a lump in a twin bed the lump says to the darkness. I love you mommy. And you think we are not on a train we are in heaven. We are in the sun and all you know is pure light. And the lump says "don't go. Peter Pan is on the cieling and he's locked in a cage." and you say, "we'll talk all about it tomorrow."

my alien