June Daughters (2011)

Riona

curled in lap like kitten
you nestle in near the baby
remember that you are the baby
though simultaneously
you tag along with sisters and friends
try to partake
in your almost-five world
of big kid-dom
show your cousin how to hold a book
how to slide down the big slide
how to spray the hose
how to be
the beautiful little person
you have come to be

Isabella

whisperer
you listen in to all our conversations
picking out nuances
like the brightly colored beads
you choose for your necklaces
identifying each sparkling word
for its hidden meaning

whisperer
we stand along the fence
our neighing voices lost in the wind
you dash across, wipe the sky with your voice
high pitched and hard to hear
the horses listen, gallop
at the fence line in five seconds
your hand out with carrots as
thick equine lips pluck everything
from your fearless fingers

whisperer
you lift her out once
guide her to slides
push her in swings
she is head over heels
and denies me
only allows you
to wrap your arms around her
heave her up
change her diaper
and speak in a language
the adults can’t understand

Mythili

forethought and logic
shouldn’t quite fit
with a child younger than seven

yet you stop as sisters
blow away money with the wind
saving yours for something special
still trapped inside your imagination

you tell it like it is
pointing out the necessity of native plants
the reasoning behind new sidewalks
the purpose of cold hose water in the pool

i see you now
new front teeth coming in
i see you then
new world coming in
your forethought and logic
the backbone of who you are.

Words on Paper

you say it isn’t valuable
and i find words that are so powerful
they could climb up a mountain
but they are lost on you
your media-induced culture
so engulfed in desire
that not for a moment could you
understand the sweat and tears
put in to real work
the real work of words on paper

we will move on
and i will remember your post
the ridiculousness of it
the way i cursed you for its haste
and you will remember
four years of debt and nothing to show
nothing but who you are inside
how you see the world in a new light
the people who have changed your life
and all the words, words, words
that have allowed you to be
who you are going to be.

Pyramid

someone’s on the top tier
calling commands to those below
just like slaves beneath the Pharoah
we are trapped under the heavy weight
of imperialism

Enter title here

enter title here
gray words on a blue sky day
she crawls into my lap
between three margaritas
fifteen bicycle miles
and half the cottonwood-covered zoo

a boy would never do that

he informs us
letting us know how lucky we are
we are
we are
with three little-getting-bigger-every-day
girls
girls
girls

she is absent but we fill in her space
with life stories as twisted as the branches
on the half-dying ash
(the one holding the tire swing)
and the fajitas pop in our mouths
with songs of spicy Mexico
and we remember
(forget in the same moment)
how we came together
how so easily we could come apart
how we remember
how we forget

Hunger

even with dessert
double scoop of my favorite
syrupy sweet and whipped
sometimes i still feel hungry.

Palates

here we are again
standing in front of the stove
without a recipe
we stir and stir
drop a pinch and dump a cup
adjust the temperature
sift through our ingredients
and hope that in the end
our palates will be pleased.

Shift

the higher shift is near
at our fingertips
we could stay in first gear
or fly on our wingtips

we’ve driven here before
getting lost along the way
can we dream no more
and make the cross-country sway?

i wait with clutch in hand
and drive into the night
surrounded by endless land
i wait for the time without fright.

the car picks up speed
and we slide back in the zone
it’s everything we need
yet every fear of being alone.

Colors of the Night

i forget (as we sit here,
our hamstrings on the boat’s spine)
the colors of the day

was the sky as blue as the jays
darting in and out of trees?
were the forests a mixture of
pine and deciduous greens?

your mouth reaches mine
like the palm of a blind man
cupping my lead home

all i can see now (day washed away)
are contrasting colors of night
silver, black, gray, and white
as sharp as noon in my sight

you press against me (i reach out)
clasping the colors in my hand
your movements trapping them in memory

black unblurrable jagged mountaintops
over silver unpretentious waves of lake
sky’s gray bosom bursting with rainclouds
beneath the full serving of white moon

i forget (breaths heavy with dew)
the colors of the day, see only
carved out images in colors of the night

Glass

a hill that even
the toddler tries to roll down
mother tangled in dizziness
surrounded by trees
thickest oak in eastern Kentucky
(takes three of us
to wrap our arms around it)
a forest
as real as it gets
with disc golf mountain bike trails
a muddy creek
and “looks like glass” waterfall
log from one side to the other
yes
in the middle
of
the
city
houses lining the park
with Bermuda grass beauty
sister brother-in-law niece
and i think
why isn’t this my home?

Breeze of Love

single women in spaghetti straps
men in khakis, collars and ties
linger in line for $3 microbrews
as we soak up the sounds of summer

girls giggle and groove at the front
forgetting for once they’re so small
beer bubbles in belly, beckons a smile
carrying kids through crowds into crescents

the ride home through Victorian
Colonial Craftsman Contemporary
bike lanes on every side street
brings a breeze of love through Lexington
lovely to love, to live, to meet.