errands, laundry done
everything packed, lunches made:
perfect weekend plans?
two kids sick with colds
a rock slide adding four hours
and Bruce has the flu
his first break from work
ruined by illness and stress
such is life: stressed hopes
Month: February 2016
Border Crossings
the jury resides
in a wall of fallen rocks
that stalls our weekend
first world problems
(a long, laughter-filled car ride
is easily solved)
thirteen comes but once
and no rocks have once kept me
from climbing mountains
When We’re Ready
thirteen has arrived,
rearing its ugly head with back talk
and tormenting sibling rivalry,
with GPA pressure in seventh grade
and the desperate need of a young girl
to isolate herself from her family
(for a film in her “genre,”
to write her story,
to paint silver nail polish on
my mother’s-her-ladylike nails,
alone, alone in her room)
alone, alone as a mother
i brought her home from the hospital,
and she wouldn’t open her eyes for ten days,
so infused with jaundice-yellow skin
and the vast ordeal of
a long and painful labor,
and i could barely walk,
and she would barely eat,
yet she was mine, mine,
my first take at motherhood,
my first trial at real,
gut-opening, visceral
pain
from my heart into my groin
from my heart i have raised her,
one failed attempt at control
after another, her bar as the oldest
set higher than her sisters would
ever hope to even catch
in their strained glimpse
beneath her slender shadow,
me always asking more than what
she wants to offer,
fighting through tears we’ve
shared on too many nights
fighting through to become this
surreal force that connects
her face to mine,
the picture that sits on my
windowsill at work always bringing the same comment,
“That one, that one looks like you,”
the only one of three to be my twin,
too high-spirited to capture,
too strong-willed to be anything less
than my firstborn
my firstborn turns thirteen today,
placing a moratorium on that dwindling youth
i tried to trap years ago
when she couldn’t sit still on the naughty step,
at the dinner table,
or in between my endless kisses
on her chubby cheeks–
nor now, as she bursts through doors, breaks ceramic pots
i’ve had her whole life,
spins circles on skates
and chases,
chases,
chases that dream we all still hold in our hearts when we are thirteen,
when we still think the world is ours,
that we will be the best kid,
student, friend, daughter….
knowing that we will open our eyes when we’re ready,
sit still when the time is right,
back talk to find our voice,
and never, never, never
be anyone other than ourselves
Between the Lines
kind words and thank yous
so simple, yet meaningful
far beyond letters
Tears and Joy
doctored up lies
shot into their arms
while i hold dirty pamphlets–
tears and angst spill to the floor,
betrayed on all fronts
a McDonalds stop is all it takes
to win second breakfast
and semi-forgiveness
(all before the sun breaks noon)
there is no holiday,
no sleeping in or forgetting that
tomorrow brings a slew of
ungrateful teens
just errands, yard work,
sweeping leaves to
mid-February winds
that have just now offered
a day without snowcover
children who need beds
that i’ll never afford,
a makeup piano lesson
to forgive forgetfulness–
never, never a break
(until that lesson offers,
in waning winter sun,
a circle i make
around the soft mud trail
of my youth, found in this park)
and my girls clean the bathroom,
set the table, chime in,
prepare the house for grandparents
and early birthday joy
because even on a Monday
(holiday or not)
family is what wakes us at dawn,
brings tears to the floor,
and makes our walks worth walking
Double Vision
the clinging pain of a head cold
carries me to my new optometrist
(my colleague’s twin: spiky hair,
flamboyant twerks, bow tie over stripes)
he misses my eye flaw
and rushes through the exam
till i catch his mistake
with my lack of double vision
off to parental/political-talk visit
and doldrum Saturday errands:
two-store grocery shopping
to pad our pockets with savings
home to walk under spring-sun skies
before slew of sleepover requests
inundate our three-day,
never-a-break weekend
i work out with Jillian
’cause she’s made me “big promises,”
pushing my runny nose and sore throat
under my double-vision life
the life that is filled with
everything i always wanted
and emptied with all i must give up
to have it
Ode to Period 2
always a mumbling chatter
seventeen languages, syllables mixed
small laughs and shout outs,
“Miss, Miss, Miss, MISS!”
bright, toothy smiles
eyes searching for answers
pencils searching for English words
tongues at a loss
sun rays bring in yellow light
on a room of dark-haired heads
and headscarves of every color
(peace in the making)
always asking questions
“Miss, Miss, Miss MISS!!”
what i hear as i fall asleep
my name chopped to one syllable
Plea Bargain
quit or try harder?
plague of my life sits waiting
under setting sun
my daughters beg me
for a morning to see them
(no more predawn work)
i try exercise
to beg love for the body
that i lost for them
i give up dairy
and drinking; saying bad things;
but it’s not enough
time swallowed by plans
i will never quite finish
(and ungraded work)
i beg clarity
from my second (lost) language,
for tongue-trapped escape
but it’s not enough
to find that pivotal time
lost in the shuffle
i beg forgiveness
from the self i promised me
twenty years ago
i hope i find it
hidden in filtered sun rays
that trickle through time
This Sunset Will Never Be Back
sometimes a pink sky
on the way to ice skating
is all a day needs
Refill
a draining Tuesday
ended by some belly laughs
for all kids: theirs, mine.
i need more of this:
finding joy in small moments
(not letting them go)
vocab sign contests,
impromptu snowball battles:
a winter day won.
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