He draws a smiley face in every window of his chalk house, and someone stuck a smiley face on top of the brown bookshelf.
One day I even came across a tiny blue butterfly sticker which found itself in flight behind our cheap little kitchen toaster.
I step past an old flower pot they’ve filled with a mulch of sorts to house the acorns they’re trying to grow into a whole live oak tree itself, a tossed out laundry detergent bottle is their watering can of choice.
All the sticks and stones they’ve strewn all nary about I know will break my heart, and what kind of inexplicable joy is this to feel that kind of ache?! Here we are, home sweet home—just up the hill a ways and deep down in my chest!
But at what point do you think I can strategically relocate that soppy mulch sitting on our front doorstep?
-S.V.F. // Sticks & Stones
read more:
Motherhood by Laundry Load – a poem of transformation
Sierra V. Fedorko 
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