feeding the children
I pile up platters of care
oodles of cuddles
vats of validation
chafing dishes of just-right challenges
ample heapings of acceptance
call them to the table
groaning under the weight
of what seems to me abundance
but only they are able
to part their lips
and allow nourishment in
only they can accept these offerings
meanwhile we all sit rigidly
waiting to see
if any fork is lifted
