I am

By Dabney Baldridge

PROMPT — Who am I today?

I am

young when you smile at me

from across the room, quiet

when I read your eyes

like the letters you used to send—

old when we dream

of the time to go, times gone by,

your hair fading, mine greying,

the house loud around us now.

I am smooth as marble, dimpled

by your grip, strong and supple, new

as the morning laced with dew—

wrinkled as worn linen, unmade

sheets to slip into after dark,

soft and pillowy

like long-risen dough.

I am playful as the child I was,

you were,

when we met, free as fire, careless

in a careful world—

spent as a mother, a father,

watching our children play, carrying

the weight of the sky,

watering the world.

I am sweet as a summer breeze, easy,

basking in the luxury of time, loving,

words warmed by the solstice sun—

scathing as a winter storm, raging

hormones, worrying over our home,

no time to spare, cold creeping

into my voice at every crack.

I am small when folded into your arms,

quarter to five to your five nine,

safe as gold in a treasure chest

deep in the ground—

infinite when you love me anyway,

a cup full to overflowing,

expansive as galaxies, dancing

in and out of time, for

I am, you are,

all seasons at once.

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Dabney Baldridge is a busy mother of four who writes in the middle of life's messiness to create beauty out of chaos. Her writing has been published by Calla Press, Dandelion Revolution Press, Solid Food Press, Vessels of Light, The Way Back to Ourselves, and Heart of Flesh. You can find her sharing a poem every week on Substack @dabneywrites. Dabney writes from Pikesville, Maryland.