Hymn to Full, by Robin Merrill

I didn't write about the U.S. Thanksgiving this year. Too busy doing the things I am so thankful for, thank goodness. Robin, however, contacted me about doing a guest post/poem. Sometimes poems, in beauteous brevity, can speak to a feeling better than any long winded post or litany I could write. For a bio and more poetry (and who doesn't need more poetry-- "I believe the world is beautiful/ and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.") her website is www.robinmerrill.com

Hymn to Full

Here is my hymn
to the washing machine
full of diapers full of
fluorescent mustard
baby poop. Here is a hymn
for clogged milk ducts,
bras stuffed with cabbage leaves,
breasts bursting with nourishment.
Here is my hymn for hampers:
seventy-five thousand
shades of pink
soaked in soured milk
and baby pee. Here is my hymn
to a full house, my hymn to clutter,
my hymn to nothing ever gets
done, not dishes, not floors,
not groceries, not even poems.
Here is my hymn to calendars,
full of doctor’s appointments:
pediatric, obstetric, chiropractic.
Here is my hymn for my daughter,
full of vigor and vitality,
her belly round, her brain busy
absorbing the world,
one primary color, one consonant,
one note, one face, one scent
at a time. And finally,
here is a hymn,
the first hymn ever
to my heart,
who now knows how to

Robin Merrill is a poetess who splits her time between Maine and Michigan. You can usually find her writing about Marquette MI hotels.

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