Month: March 2011

Pain to Peace

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i step inside to tears
worthy of sudden death,
three red-eyed girls
limp with want,
unable to spill the tale.

my heart jumps into my veins.
“where’s Daddy?” i pop out.
“what’s wrong?”
but tears and moans
fill the gaping holes
of longing.

their pain is my panic.
i pull them into my arms,
sing them songs,
wait for the story to sift through
the tormented version of truth
their small minds will allow.

he enters, patient but done,
his version highly revised,
worthy of publication.
with girls in arms,
books on laps,
words and pictures from pages,
hugs and kisses goodnight,
we move from pain to peace.

Perspective

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with her
my words are stunted, stuck
my smile hollow, forced
my heart racing, anxious

she can see through me
and calls me on my lack of words
when later the message arrives.

i cannot see through her
nor understand her motivation
nor can bear the thought
of who she sees through those eyes.

is it me
or an altered version of myself,
twisted, inadequate,
the one i try to hide,
the one you seem to never see?

Sparkling

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my morning begins
delving into darkness.
just far enough to reach
every constellation,
city lights sparkling,
a gold-threaded quilt
thrown upon the plains,
shadowy hills holding
spotlighted pavement

my day ends
bathed in light.
wind whipping my tires home,
sun splashing its mockery
of rainless spring clouds,
glistening snow-capped peaks
gathering sparkling skyscrapers
in a picture frame of beauty,
sunlit pavement.

for you
the darkness dissipates,
melts into the sparkling spirit
of a new day.

Worth

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this is what i want:
for these words to be worth something.
dollar signs.
gymnastics lessons.
food for my family.
a roof, a car, a new bike.

anything but what they are:
published to all,
read by few,
as meaningless as who i am
in this place where my words
mean nothing.

Sound Effects

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in line for coffee
a new dessert tray
slides into the bakery shelf.
their hands on the glass
they oooooohhhhh
in choral exultation.
the old couple behind us
chuckle, thank us for
the sound effects,
the beauteous sounds
of three little girls,
the simple sounds
of life’s little pleasures.

Turn

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he posts the pics–
i see frowns,
utter unhappiness.
i wonder if it’s her wedding day.

is he vying for irony
or truly emotional,
having known her
better than i?

i won’t ask
as we morbidly look over her
eighty-nine-year-old skin,
as we put forth a fake eulogy
from the minister’s mouth,
as we place her in the tomb
beside her
fourteen-years-dead husband.

i will feel the hollowness
of every death,
every lonely old death
seep through the tears
of my mother and aunts,
wondering when the tables will turn,
when it will be their turn
mine
and if the radiant smile
from my wedding pic
will glow across the display,
words lost to all who enter?

Wings

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i’m sorry to say
you’ve paid your dues
in pavement meanderings,
spills on concrete,
thousands of miles
up and down hills.

now you will hang,
a bat in the close-lidded garage
waiting for the day
when i might strap on a pack
and pedal you into the sunset.

i have wings now,
feather-light
glow-in-the-dark
smooth-as-weathered-stone wings
that will fly
fly
fly me
farther than you could ever take me.

Tie

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with these books,
their warm legs,
my voice,
the frazzled day
melts away.
we forget how many times
they argued over
who sat where
what toothpaste to use
whose turn it was on the iPad
and remember
the comforting magic of
words and pictures
that tie together
everything we think
might fall apart.

Icicles

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fog creeps in
beckoning spring
with an absent snowfall
frost on the branches
we wait
i wait
new bicycle shining
under the flash
never yet on pavement
one thousand
rooftops mimic mountains
i cannot see
he tells me by 2050
too many people will live here
to sustain life
and why am i having another child
vanilla caramel cream porter
mixed with dates that match up exactly
eleven
twenty-two
eighty-nine years
my grandmother enters
and leaves this life.

it is monday
only monday
the week is fresh
new like the snow
that will creep in on cats’ paws
as we sleep
and i wonder
if my girls
who met her once
will brave the cold
the cold, the cold
and bury the seed
that brought them into this world
the seed from last century
the person who they will never know
whose words ring
like icicles on snow
we wait for all night.

Beauty

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beauty is measured in miles
time spent spinning tires
shifting gears and minds
muscles as tight as ropes

beauty is the gift i give today
the long-awaited gift of newness
the measurement of all the miles
behind me, all the miles i’ve yet to pedal.