an announcement of your arrival
and eight small feet running towards
you, sticky hands and hair that smells
you went to check the mail, inhaling
the familiar aroma of wet newspapers
a fresh breath of summer, exhaling
two clanks on the pot, dinner ready
a moment that you worked towards
the moment that you lived for
how much life would you collect
every time you came home to love
and every time you came home to silence?
how do you measure the moments in between
the hours slaving towards survival
the minutes of warmth and comfort
how do you measure a life?