putting the kids to bed

Here's a concept: friends
that bring out
the addictions in you.

Are they good friends?
Bad friends? Must you shun them
in times of growth
and reluctant letting go
of the old familiars?

There is, most of all
history
or in this case
twenty years of herstory
to fall away from
and so many stories yet
unsung.

Going on forty, one would think
you and I would have met
wellness, or at least made
an aquaintance. Same goes for forgiveness.
The frayed screen, the coughing,
all the raw edges. Left behind
with our blessing, unutterable.

But for those magical,
sweet auntiehood moments
especially at night,
when you as Mom are toast,
wrung out from chasing
and no'ing
(and the five year old
kicks one too many times,
uses words like hate)
and one of us
designated aunties
(or both)
attempts the near
impossible
and to our delight
and surprise and relief
lull the boys to sleep.

Victory that rests
deep in the heart,
that small boy back beneath
my hand, his twitching
and squirming over.

But for the fact
that the supreme joy
of putting the kids
(who feel safe here)
to bed won't change.
High or not. Eventually
we string together
a calendar of not todays

and realize we're
breathing deeper,
much like self soothing
per the parenting manuals,
a skill we never
mastered as children
but found decades later,

deep within ourselves,
despite the inhalation
despite the slim chance
that we could learn
such old new tricks.