Leaves

stomach tumbling
 with sick realization:
 innocence now lost
 
 just three days ago
 she was climbing up the limbs
 of youth’s bulging tree
 
 her arms strong and thin
 (but what was bulging inside,
 ready to burst free?)
 
 to know that she knows
 kills me from the inside out
 (as a mom, a slave)
 
 failures drop like leaves
 of youth’s impending autumn
 to crunch with my woes
 
 i’ve always loved leaves
 (but there’s no satisfaction
 in this kind of crunch.)
 
 she searches hollows
 to fill a hollow within
 (i’ve searched too. in vain.)
 
 to know that she knows
 brings every dark doubt to light
 (no tree-limbed safe-net)
 
 what will she climb next?
 (the strong arms of a stranger
 who will leave no leaves…)
 
 a mom’s greatest fear:
 to lose children to branches
 that i cannot reach
 
 

Day Dealings

sunset on this day
 can’t capture light nor finish
 what the day has dealt
 
 i’ll run till i die
 or die trying to run free
 from days that chase me
 
 

Cross Country

weekend leftovers
 murmur an early Monday
 in my groaning gut
 
 technology blues
 plague two classes, one meeting
 forced into nonsense
 
 data collection
 begins my singular plan
 till phone rings: sick kid
 
 frazzled packing up
 for a stomach flu faker
 then two extra kids
 
 but that is not all!
 cross country registration
 at the last moment
 
 my middle girl runs!
 two days a week, a new plan:
 laps around the park
 
 (he can cook dinner–
 we’ll eat late like back in Spain,
 shed this U.S. stress)
 
 and i will run too–
 take tree-lined tech-free views home
 (run free, not ragged)
 
 
 
 

Problem Solving

she wants an answer
 and i want a solution:
 not an easy mix
 
 i stare at Wash Park
 paddles, crayfish everywhere
 and think of that day
 
 when we were problems
 we were each other’s problems
 and that was okay
 
 she’d never been there
 and we pedaled that huge bike
 each one disabled
 
 we ate what we ate
 we chewed what we chewed: bitter
 yet: so fucking sweet
 
 and why i hate now:
 because i have everything
 (nothing without her)
 
 money doesn’t buy
 that once-in-a-lifetime love
 trapped inside boxes
 
 so what’s my answer?
 there’s no easy solution
 to a broken heart
 
 but let us fix it
 pedal away from Wash Park
 be wholly ourselves
 
 

Dusks and Dawns

red sky at night brings…
 allergies, fires, candles…
 and love. my love. love!
 
 red sky at morning
 sailors give warning: heart bursts
 for what’s lost at night
 
 

Daykeep

eyes burning, itching
 allergies taking over
 lost words from far back
 
 yet, i’m so happy
 house tucked into dream pocket
 i could let this go
 
 this and my students
 who deserve America
 (this dream we all have)
 
 and i’ll fight for them
 and she’ll praise him, she’ll praise him
 (but he wouldn’t fight)
 
 and we all know it–
 how deep my love grows. hard ass?
 abso-fuck-lutely
 
 hard ass, heart of gold.
 that you can’t forget. you can’t.
 and why now, why now?
 
 cause it’s easy now?
 cause you have a house, a home?
 cause we’re good enough?
 
 cause we were good then,
 as golden as these lost days.
 i’ll keep my days. thanks.
 
 
 
 
 

Anywhere but Here

with windows wide: write.
 because you’ve missed my poems, love.
 since yesterday’s dawn
 
 girls in sun’s shadow
 as she announces her move.
 life: cycle in, out.
 


you know you’ve missed me
 my “seven-likes” followers
 ’cause i didn’t write
 
 you count me daily
 amongst the regular loves
 that make us a life
 
 and i was just born.
 (it was like i was just born
 the day i met him)
 


’cause seventeen years
 can’t be measured in mountains
 or wildflowers
 


or whining children.
 but in the steps we oft take
 on our way back home
 
 and in sunsets. Sun!
 lighting my way across love
 across city, life.
 


cutting down this ‘hood
 into what it’s meant to be:
 scraped, demolished, lost.
 
 circular i am
 because that’s how tires spin:
 neverending globe
 


that brings us back home
 wherever that home may be.
 anywhere but here.
 

Sunny Skies Ahead

he comes home with clouds
 hovering over new joy
 (where we could be free)
 
 but then i must ask:
 is freedom found in money?
 so hard to answer
 
 those without know best:
 lack of money’s a prison
 choking month to month
 
 those with all know best:
 too much money is a trap
 biting claws of greed
 
 it was just enough
 for shoes, road trips, water parks
 just enough to breathe
 
 i want that freedom–
 monthly-cycle jail-cell break
 so far from the clouds
 
 

Miracle Man

in thirty-eight years
 he’s made me miracles
 (since before we met)
 
 miracle one: birth–
 an afterthought, late-marriage,
 named-after-dad fourth
 
 miracle two: shy–
 wouldn’t say more than needed
 from grade school on up
 
 miracle three: serve–
 mother, father, siblings, friends,
 country, lovers… wife
 
 miracle four: kids
 who can capture his essence
 in smiles, sweetness
 
 miracle five: love–
 couldn’t come to broken hearts
 till we met. and healed.
 
 miracle six: hope–
 ’cause without him there’d be none.
 happy birthday, Babes.
 
 

Stolen

she mentioned poem theft
 when i went to Toronto
 and i laughed and laughed
 
 would someone steal poems
 so specific to my life
 day after day… kids??
 
 would they steal this pic
 formulated by daughters’
 view of this bright world?
 
 would they steal these plates
 drying when hot water broke
 no plumber can come?
 
 would they steal our ride
 our dip in the river, creek?
 and claim it’s their poem?
 
 would they fix plumbing?
 be my man–wire phone lines?
 they couldn’t be me
 
 my poems, words, are mine
 trapped here for worldwide view
 no one would steal them