By Amy Grass
@amyegrass

I have no stomach for
The tiny heartbreaks of this world
The everyday wounds
Even a mother cannot prevent

There was the day my daughter 
Came home from summer camp
Rain jacket tied around her sweat-drenched waist
“I didn’t know where to put it, so I wore it all day”

Or the moment my son
Pressed his palms to his eyes
Forcing tears back inside
Determined not to cry in front of his kindergarten classroom

The inconveniences and embarrassments
The slights and misses
It’s these little things 
That break my heart

I swallow the rising inclination
To eradicate their discomfort
I push back against the urge
To shield them from all pain

I resolve instead to teach my children
You can be tough but not brittle
You can use your heartache
To tell a better story

A story of the courage 
To move through this world with an open heart 
A vulnerability that might not appear heroic 
But is courage all the same

Each morning before I send them 
Into an unforgiving world
I braid that story into my daughter’s hair
I double-knot it into my son’s shoelaces

They take it 
Like a prayer
To the places I cannot follow
And I know our broken hearts will be okay

Guest poetry written by Amy Grass. Amy is a wife and mom of three in St. Louis, Missouri. When she's not writing poetry about the ordinary moments of motherhood, she can be found baking layer cakes, catching up with friends on a morning run, or working her way through her ever-growing stack of library books. You can connect with Amy on her Substack or on Instagram.

Photo by Jennifer Floyd.