By Jillian Stacia
@jillianstacia

my children are like poems

from me, but not of me.

i birthed them into this world
through womb and word
stared at them with starlight smiles:
miracle, miracle, miracle.

they walk through this world on their own
teeter-totter legs. i try to keep them 
safe: grab them by the scruff 
of their neck, wipe away the crusted spit,
patch up the broken bits, kiss the ground with creaky
knees, feel the earth shift under all this
weight.

but still. what is required of a mother,
what is expected of a poet,
but to love and love and love
and then let go?
somehow, i manage
to let them go.

(they were never mine to begin with)

Guest poem written by Jillian Stacia. Jillian wants to live in a world where the coffee is bottomless and the sweatpants are mandatory. She spends her days crafting creative copy for clients in numerous industries and is known for her work in Children's Programming. Her poetry and creative nonfiction essays have been featured in Remington Review, Coffee & Crumbs, Gypsophila Zine, and the Part-Time Poets Substack. When she's not writing, Jillian can be found snuggling with her two adorable children and cheering on the Baltimore Ravens.

Photo by Jennifer Floyd.