Laci Hoyt | Honey-Dipped and Other Poems

Honey-Dipped and Other Poems

By Laci Hoyt

Honey-Dipped

Mom, will you play with me? you asked, your voice honey-dipped, the beckoning of a young heart wanting to connect. Sure, in a minute, I said as if dishes or laundry or vacuuming carried any importance, as if cleanliness could replace connection.

Later, I held your action fgures in my hands. I made them move just as you said and you giggled that infectious laugh when I used poison ivy as a weapon.

Mom, will you play with me? you asked, again and again, so many times. I can still hear your voice dripping with the sweet nectar of your plea.

I could have said yes more often.

I wish I would have tended to your desires for nearness unfailingly, understood my full presence equaled more than enough.

I wish I would have grasped reality, that one day I would desperately want your attention, just as you wanted mine because now I am the one with the sugary plea, asking Do you want to do something with me? and you are too busy in your teenaged dreams.

I no longer own a coveted gaze and you are unaware that I’d abandon anything if it meant that you would look at me the way you used to; everything if you would take my hand in yours once more and let me into your atmosphere.

Becoming

With one child gone from home, one standing on the edge of freedom, begging to fy, I fnd my space feels empty yet alive.

I am middle-aged, still wondering who I am. I am still mending old wounds. I am still unearthing love for me that rivals my love for you. I am still becoming my own sacred space.

Still a new woman is being birthed as old ways of being slough away.

There is time now to explore seeds of creativity previously placed on hold. Time now for discovering my edges, expanding, remaking internal landscapes.

I am still making sense of the totality of this time, while welcoming the invitation to fnally, fully grow into me.

Stitching Songs

My mom taught me to sew when I was just three years old she gave me a jar of buttons, a scrap of cloth, and I

sewed with gusto, carefully choosing favorites, stitching them down, while mom stitched beside me, and I

come up at one, down at two, gently pulling thread through

didn’t know then my frst love was born, that stitching would save me, even when I was too sick to stand. And with time on my hands, I

learned to knit, discovered a calm I didn’t know I missed. Knit stitches kept me from going under, from losing my mind as a mother and I unravel and cut, weave needle through cloth, continuing on to the fnal knot

insert right needle, front to back, wrap a loop, pull through the crack

knit one stitch, purl two, repeat this pattern all the way through

practiced steadily, learning every kind of stitch, using them to unwind, to pull me back from the edges of this parenting life and then I

slip hook into stitch, pull up a loop, wrap yarn again, pull through all with a scoop.

taught my daughter to crochet. She writes patterns all her own, showing a confdence I’ve always longed to know. And as she stitches toward her future, I stitch my life back together and my mom, the master stitcher, revels in the legacy we create together.

LACI HOYT wants to live in a world where kindness is a priority and everyone owns at least one hand-knit sweater. She writes from her home in upstate NY about living with chronic illness, love and relationships, and any other thing she can’t get out of her head. Her writing has been published through The Kindred Voice. When she’s not writing, she can be found with knitting needles and yarn, hunched over the sewing machine, or creating unique dolls and bags for her Etsy shop. Every Sunday, you can fnd a new haiku published on her blog. Visit Laci at www.liviatree. blogspot.com.

Engage with Laci’s Story:

What is something you were taught when you were growing up that you are now teaching your child? Who taught you?