fourteen class hours
in three days. cold winter walk
to house of illness.
no breaks this weekend
as oldest tells project woes
(procrastination)
middle craves pancakes
but class again tomorrow
allows no bake time
(he’ll be up all night
holding a pail for baby
to give me this chance)
as it’s always been–
i work, work, work… he supports
(and we’re all winners)
half hour per kid
400 students to test:
nightmare formula
expectations lost
on those who make test money
(never worked with kids)
if they’d see our day
they’d cut this mindless bullshit
down to what’s needed
but they don’t know needs
they know only dollar signs
and we’re left to blame
reasons why i stopped:
one–brutal voice in writing,
uncensored anger
two–not much laughter,
too much crying to count
(my tear stained regrets)
three–exhausted sleep
from too many restless nights
swimming in nightmares
four–so much good lost
on the desire to numb,
to not fully live
five–waste of money
in times when we had little,
in times when we’re rich
six–lust and lack of
mediocre love-making
blurred by consumption
seven–fat belly
of someone too far along
to give up this quick
eight–every bad choice
i have made as an adult
came from that bottle
nine–joy i once felt
disappeared on icy rocks
of my lost chances
ten–my daughters’ eyes
watching every move i make
(and i’m making… them)
finally the talk
(though teen truth is not revealed)
but i’ll work on her
another long night
(i’d never lecture this long)
yet my kids judge me
i teach how i learn:
modeling, demonstration,
then application
i plan; over plan
think things through with them in mind
everything for them
yet it doesn’t work
i’ve somehow lost touch with them
and–worse–with myself
i miss the old me
so confident, outspoken
not worried for loss
now i question all:
which kid hates me most, and why?
will i keep my job?
but the worst is dark:
why can’t i be nicer… loved?
why can’t i smile?
i’ll go on, of course–
house bought, girls in school, trap set–
but at what cost? loss?
the long walk to school
(meant to calm dreaded return)
backsplashed by moonlight
it lit my trapped way
to judgment i can’t escape
via teenage angst
then came home to lies.
sometimes life is like a cell:
the beginning, the end
yet, there is escape
small moments of truth and love
backsplashed by sunrise
back from mountain views
what that means: laundry, cleaning
organizing life
car vacuumed and wiped
every last load put away
while girls made snow forts
(i know… they should work
i should hover over them
like a copter mom)
but they’ll forget dirt
recall bricks of snow with friends
(happy childhood)
i’ll take on the dirt
if only for one Sunday
(reorganized life)
to ring in New Year
we drove two hours past home
to make a weekend
we saw A-frame views
and slept in with circle flames
before we ventured
he slid us down hill
and we slid in the new year
with sleds, skis, snowshoes
because life is such:
moments of fear, winter ice
and warm flame endings
the New Year looms near
only two resolutions:
make friends with sis; write.
second thoughts run deep
two hundred dollars later
and him always mad
my bestie takes blame
(her kitten was first, she claims)
but this is my fault
how deep does love run?
for my oldest: no-phone prize
for us all: pet love
sometimes i wonder
how hovering hurt runs deep
to pick our pockets
if i could keep her
(and keep his heart with me too)
we’d run through the depths
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