A poem about babysitting and enjoying children and the memories they can stir up in one’s mind of their own childhood.
Little hand inside mine.
Tiny laughter fills the house.
Hiding in places that seem
only for a mouse.
Running, laughing, whispering
little Mac, Keegan, and I.
Energy never seems to fade
as the sun descends in the sky.
Bath time.
Keegan jumps in first,
MacKenzie just two steps behind.
Making a mess as I try not to curse.
Splashing and imitation
my eyes do see.
Brother and sister together
Memories of Chris and me.
Little wet heads and
tiny hands waving goodbye.
Exhausted yet happy,
I let out a sigh.
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