Month: March 2011

Ride

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

how could i not see
after nearly ten years
in this house
that a four-mile pedal east
leads right into
cottonwood groves
tucked along creeks,
sweeping plains with hills
that carry me
roller-coaster style
into the wind,
and a view
on my homeward journey
contrasting the starkness
of yellow prairie
against the jagged peaks
that beckon non-natives
to call Colorado home?

how?
because i didn’t strap on
my helmet,
layer on my bike clothes,
and find the time to
chill-the-bones,
burn-the-muscles,
praise-the-beauty
ride.

Me

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

i don’t want to be here.
i’m good at this.
i’ve read enough
to share stories and articles
with my co-teachers,
have taught enough
to take over their lessons on the fly,
remember her words enough
to stand at the front and teach
while simultaneously seeing students
for who they really are,
can move through classrooms
and schedules with
hauntingly smooth ease,
can grade a stack of 150
short constructed responses
before the state test is over
and still take the time
to cry a little when i see
how poor a student’s score will be

but i cannot
i cannot
take the tears out of my four-year-old’s eyes
after the rushed-morning goodbye,
the words i cannot take back,
the days
the months
the years
i cannot take back,
the me
(the mommy me)
who i fear will never be as good
as the me
who walks down these hallways.

Song

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

the beat is in the background
subtle
wavering
but i can still hear it.

instrumentals move in
twangy
sweet
vocals pounding microphone.

lyrics flow (honey from mouth)
stretched
anticipatory
words that try to hide it.

a breath, a moment without verse
ba-dum
ba-dum
breaking through the song.

i wait for the beat to take over
penetrating
impregnable
for you to hear what i hear.

Copy

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Dear Phil:

I saw that book you gave me.
Remember?
The best-first-year
beat-up, bedraggled
copy you’d
“given to all your proteges”?

You forgot something.
I wasn’t your protege.

I didn’t need to hear
how Kari won
best-first-year-teacher
the year before
or
how I “might not get
rehired”
if I couldn’t control
period six.

I needed for you
to not be my mother
to not be my father
to not be
the beat-up
bedraggled
copy of criticism
that had followed me
all of my life.

Do you remember?
It was my first year
and one of your last.
At least you can walk away
knowing you
were there for me.

Love,
The Best First Year

Commute

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

cat’s paws on glass
dented side panel
dash lights that haven’t
worked in five years
bits of wrappings
from kids’ endless
candy expenditures
taped-on headlight
zip-tied bumper
broken visor
windshield crack
of spider-ice
locks and windows
you have to open
by hand
broken cup holders
too small for any drink
radio numbers
you can no longer see.

and you dare ask
how i could layer on
thick butt pad
sports-bra undershirt
two long underwear tops
one long underwear bottom
bike capris
two pairs of socks
two sets of gloves
a bandana, hat, scarf
a helmet and headphones
a saddle bag filled with
lunch and work clothes?

oh.
you missed
the silver sliver of moon
the last star of night
the windless morn
Aurora’s pink fingertips
painting the sky
the top of the hill home
where the curving road
presented its framed picture
of the city skyline
distantly mirrored
by snow-capped fourteeners.

i understand.
you would rather be warm.
i would rather have warmth.