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

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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.
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