Perhaps I am an existentialist
like Sartre
the one I never read about
but Mrs. Clark told me
and that was enough to know
to know
that I am who I am
and no one can make me different.
(but if she hadn’t told me
at sixteen, would I know
that’s who I am?)
I’ll never know.
What—or who—formed this shape?
am I a trapezoid trying to be a triangle
or a triangle trying to blow myself
up into a cone?
not sure
pokey though
pokey and prodding,
peeking out and stretching
my angles as far as they will
s t r e t c h
it could have been her
with all the no’s
it could have been him
with all the passivity
it could have been me
a round ball in the beginning
but I bounced back,
eventually
finding the format that suits me best
(I may have been fourteen)
I’d had enough
and now I stand
angular as ever
unable to fit into the
cookie cutter they’d imagined
instead
looking up from one edge
and down from a corner
I see myself, the perfect
unnamable shape,
formed by my own desires.
he has carried her in the crook of his arm
to the point of exhaustion for both
yet
even long distance I can hear her cries,
I can feel the stress rising up over phone lines
and all I can reply is, “I’ve been there.”
she handles it as flippantly as a new mother can,
mentioning only her concerns about the schedule,
the lack of sleep,
the looming return to work,
but he is not so sure
and when she tells me she must go
it is not because of the crying (now settled)
(innocent, newborn) baby,
but because he is stressed.
and all I can reply is, “I’ve been there,”
knowing the words will
never be enough to
cover the overwhelming burden
(of love)
that comes with becoming parents
nestled here in the crack between
two suburbs (one might deny that—
once a small town, now inundated by
subdivisions as the city’s hands outstretch)
are you, the cows and llamas
of my daily commute.
grazing on prairie grasses that
the developers haven’t touched,
one old farmhouse boarded up and fenced in,
the other bursting out yellow light
(still open for your business)
in the predawn mornings.
I search for you more than I
watch my speed, more than I
try to make the next light,
more than you can imagine as
you stalwartly brave the snow,
the wind, the rain without complaint.
will your wool appear in sweaters
at the local store? your beef and
leather be sold in a place where I can buy it?
these are the things that run through my mind
as I come over the hill, anxiously awaiting
my daily dose of yesteryear, of tomorrow, of hope.
just like that we are in our thirties
I met you when I was nineteen
hard to imagine now
you just twenty and shy as a bird
but I still fell for your wordless remarks
your looks and emails
and surety
your surety
that I belonged with you
and here we are thirteen years later
on a date
three girls with the grandparents
and we could do anything
anything
and we do
we do
and I love you just as much
now
as those hot nights in the car
years ago
when we were just teenagers really
and you can’t hold back the grin
at the table we share
because I’m all yours
all yours Babes
all
all
all yours
God how I love you still
and always, always.
For myself and my daughters.
1. Enjoy life. It’s too short not to.
2. Set goals for yourself. Put them in writing so you’ll follow through.
3. Choose your dreams wisely.
4. Motherhood is the most important job in the world. Remember that when your kids have been bickering all day and you just want to shove them in front of the TV.
5. Be open-minded. Accept people for who they are and don’t waste your time trying to change them.
6. Eat healthily, but enjoy treats. Life needs a bit of sweetness.
7. Make time for yourself and your personal pleasures no matter how much else you have to do.
8. Honesty is always best. Two-faced behavior is atrocious.
9. Exercise regularly. You might not get sick all winter. Or all year.
10. Be a leader for the next generation.
11. Protect the earth. It’s the only one we have.
12. Give your time and money and clothing to charity. And not for tax purposes.
13. Sleep at least seven hours every night.
14. Reflect on your mistakes, but don’t dwell on them. Change who you are because of them.
15. A good marriage can keep your life on the right track. A bad one will shove you off into the ditch. Marry the right person.
16. Don’t force other people to believe what you believe. Just listen. And share.
17. Education is never ending and is the best way to keep your mind open.
18. Love should be the focus of all you do.
19. Travel. It will open your eyes to more than you could ever imagine.
20. Keep your friends close and be for them everything that you want them to be for you.
Dedicated to my class of 2015
My first-ever group to not only pay attention
to this (too old? unrelatable setting?
boys’ prep school—really?) movie choice,
but let loose your tears of frustration,
your cheers of redemption, at its bittersweet end.
The only students who actually followed my
standardized-test lecture (copying, studying
the notes, underlining passages, reminding
each other on test days the right things to do)
taking the most time—and care—than
I’ve ever witnessed or dreamt of seeing.
The next generation of Americans (lazy?
ungrateful? bored to pieces?) who
will lead our country into a future
(recessed? depressed? unforgiving?)
whose citizens will one day be as proud
of you (hardworking, grateful, dedicated)
as I, your humble teacher, am today.
It doesn’t matter to me what you believe
as long as you don’t try to make me believe it
because I am from my own hollow in the world
already formed like the giant maple of my youth,
my limbs outstretched and searching for my own answers
and your stinging, howling wind
will only make my leaves fall too soon,
leaving me barren,
unable to create the saplings of my convictions
that could grow thick and strong
in the rays of light between my branches.
(Inspired by David Whyte)
How do I survive in the fierce heat of living?
by taking her hand within my own
and dashing across the stalemate parking lot
on our way to our next adventure,
plucking up her sisters (trapping their
thrilled screams in boxes)
to ride a bike behind my new two-wheel rider,
to ride a plastic horse for a penny,
to choose another fantasy from the library,
everything free (almost free)
just like the way life was, once,
before we knew better.
How do I survive in the fierce heat of living?
by taking her hand within my own
and dashing into the blue moon night
on our way to our next adventure,
plucking off our clothes (trapping their
tangled mess in piles)
to scream out into the darkness
to roll our nakedness in the snow
to choose another fantasy from our minds,
everything free (almost free)
just like the way life is, now,
because we know better.
A lackluster errand to the bank
(located inside the grocery store)
seems tedious as I sit in the driver’s seat
of my compact car with three
antsy girls who unbuckle themselves,
scratch the back dash,
bang on the window
as I count quarters that have
spilled out of their paper sleeve
(I lost $1.50 in the depths
of Hyundai oblivion)
They are seven, five, three,
and don’t attempt to contain
the excitement that bursts at
the thought of what is to come:
a free kid’s cookie for each,
a slice of orange meant to entice
paying customers (that they will
suck the juice from and abandon),
and the pennies they’ve discovered
(in their search for quarters) that
will pay for six rides on the horse.
They take turns, maneuvering from
tail to saddle to head to leg,
the shiny plastic horse never
moaning under their ample weight,
and every time another penny is inserted,
a new wave of thrilled screams erupts,
making this six-cent endeavor (this
tedious, hideous errand) worth more to me
(to them) than a million dollars that
I will never have to count (or spend)
to bring them happiness.
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