Janet Jerve: "Evening Vespers"

I cross the doorway to his room,
tell him it’s time for bed.
My son, only three,
is losing his buddha belly
and he is not listening to me.

He sees beyond my face,
finds comfort in his universe.
From his covers he chants:
I love myself, I like myself,
I love myself, I like myself.

I surrender to the teacher
with turtle blanket and mantra.



"Evening Vespers" by Janet Jerve. Text as published in Excavation (North Star Press, 2013). Presented here by poet submission.

Art credit: "Toddler playing on bed," photograph by Lauren Mitchell.

Janet Jerve: "Now"

When you try
to stay in it
you notice the cat
wander into your yard
hear yourself say to yourself
I don't want a cat
she skims your legs
in out around
making a figure eight
you pick her up
cradle her spine in the crook of your arms
get a good look at her face
black skin marking the line of her cat lips
forming a perpetual smile
stay you say stay and you look for her
here here here wherever you are

"Now" by Janet Jerve, from Excavation. © North Star Press, 2013. Published here by poet submission.

Art credit: "Tabby cat rubbing against owner affectionately," photograph by © Françoise De Valera James (originally color).