Threshold
here we are
you and me
on the edge of uncertainty
entwined together
in the safe harbor of my bed
with our candles and crystals and goddess cards
we look for meaning
and visions
you and I
and all the while
we are being pulled
like the tide
by the waning moon
that slips now
in and out of pale winter clouds
illuminating the room
like a lighthouse
the blood that runs in you
is water flowing in me
the truth is
we are the same river
and what will I lose
when you veer off
become your own
tributary
watching your face asleep
late night conversations
Tiktok cuddles
the front door opening after midnight
Mum – the sound of that beautiful word
shouted up the stairs
each grain in the hourglass
cuts a deeper wound
while I lie here
your head on my lap
your arm casually
flung across my leg
my fingers twirling the ribbons of your hair
just another weeknight
I close my eyes
memorize
I know
it’s almost over
Cori Howard is a writer and poet living on the traditional unceded territory of the Coast Salish peoples. Her poetry has appeared in Cordella Magazine, Fieldstone Review, Sustenance and The Sound. An award-winning journalist of 30 years, her work has appeared in The New York Times, Washington Post, Real Simple Magazine, and The Independent, among others. Cori is the editor of the best-selling anthology, Between Interruptions: Thirty Women Tell the Truth about Motherhood.