world of escape
found with taste of native tongue
were they even trapped?
you demand rigor
i serve it up, fully cooked
and yet, i get baked
i prefer full bites
not watered-down salt swallows
burnt ineptitude
i’d make an omelette
or black brownies you’ve turned down
but why waste the taste?
full on tongue, this love
so salt-sweet you’d live for it
as i do for them
but, let’s have plain eggs.
brownies too dark for breakfast?
how fast you break me
environs burning
a newly bright beginning
but are you two-faced?
will you sell my soul for yours?
beautiful, that face of yours
my girl as witness
to the only one i trust
how she knows my heart
i stand in ashes
created by betrayal
all the years back, us
how you’d turn that pretty face
and become the enemy
but leaves are falling
and i crunch my way back home
you’ll never hear it
half-circle of chairs
watching dog-walkers pass by
we munch our minions
share the glory of our days
glory be home to our days
to be number one
it takes a community
not a dictator
it’s all in the scores
that bring you to beg for wealth
what about teachers?
did you ever think
that if you led us higher
we could climb mountains?
success is not wealth
it’s not wrapped in white ribbon
it’s inside our kids
and who holds the key
the one that unlocks their tale?
teachers led by you
step down, open doors:
your choice will make or break us
break us, then break them
to be number one
you have to love all colors
and see beyond scores
ten months ago, dead:
my heart, when you told me that
(teaching is in me)
but you couldn’t teach
you could only criticize
i’m phoenix rising
with hate, you inspired
with love, i put students first
and guess what? we win
a perfect lesson
fits into care and action
not criticism
if only you’d see:
guide a better tomorrow
we’d want to stay here
but we’re not all strong
or feathers-renewable
with love, you could win
with love, we will win
my students and i? winners
please don’t burn feathers
tap your inner soul
for god’s sake, read the right book
allow us to fly
after-death clean-out:
desk too big for any room
memories replayed
pictures old and new
as far back as pain will reach
childhood relived
my life: email eye
spying on my every move
wait for responses
girls spin through crying
once it was: feed me, change me
now? essay, read, bathe
single motherhood:
just one week, and not for me
(found him at nineteen)
rushed dinners, yelling
later: lawn, Where’s Waldo search
we’ll never find him
his day versus mine:
turmoil a different tune
loss and love, rebirth
how they bring me joy
after all the years and tears
how they bring me joy
mid-day, he flies home
all afternoon i cook hope
form: chicken divan
an old recipe
that i made for their visits
but i wrap up now
to console still-birth
and recall family presence
even when they’re gone
the youngest cries out
because she is daddy’s girl
his phone face is brave
girls devour hope
pile ice cream for dessert
before his mom dies
asleep beside him
she heard him calling her name
she could let go, rest
midnight he’ll be up
flying home faster in dreams
regret, remorse, grief
the only one there
as she brought in her last breath
his worst fear present
the youngest cries out
as his siblings fill the house
he’s a mama’s boy
without his mama
no brave phone face, only tears
life’s a rented dream
before dawn message
asks permission for my love
i’m awake, ready
my soul sister breaks
before the sun emerges
i’d give her my life
sleep is a present
unpresent in this week’s life
seven days of hell
he flies tomorrow
what if he doesn’t make it
in time for her death?
my girls play the wii
squealing with best friend’s pained joy
parents’ illness wins
and yet they smile
dress up in formal attire
perfect for their game
living life scares me
as i list all my boyfriends
kindergarten up
ask him to recall
if he searched for love like me
or found it at home
he cannot answer
too consumed by coming grief
losing his mother
they will play all night
and go vacation their dreams
never knowing loss
that is what i want
no search for school boyfriends
just love at home. LOVE.
before dawn alarm
lesson planning just can’t wait
always on my mind
six a.m. invite
curly-haired house of welcome
piano and grins
inside the lead walls?
plea for more books, print, copy
teach the world’s kids
order sympathy
on an unsigned card of hate
my heart sees flowers
psychologist’s help
ends with failing soccer star
begs for a grade change
policies can’t write
or change the screaming patient
that closes my day
teary, manly hugs
from those arms that ask for more
doctors don’t listen
at dark i drive home
day wholly spent on others
to hear more sad news
such is adult life
no more hide and seek for me
everything exposed
but how their eyes light
as they share their days’ stories
must. remember. JOY
class lined up by height:
Miss, take a picture! one shouts
only in my mind
competition wins
and timing controls the day
the high school life
if you find their joy
you will reach into their hearts
you learn to love teens
if you could see this
perhaps you would understand
just why i hate you
It is probably best that you dissented. That Wii and dinner preparation were more important than this Sunday afternoon ride.
We all have our releases. Yours is cutting onions and spinning tires in an imaginary resort. Mine is spinning tires in the real world, on concrete paved just for my bicycle.
I was first out of the gate, ready to win. For one hour, I was not anybody’s mother. Anybody’s teacher. Anybody’s wife. Anybody’s (even the one who lost her baby) friend. I was just a cyclist, three words to my name: “On your left!!” shouted to the tops of the peaks. Ringing out over my music. Move out of my way because there are not enough miles, not enough breaths in my lungs, not enough songs on this playlist to pedal through this pain.
Only: Road, River, Range. That is all I wanted to see. That is all I wanted to pull into my soul this Sunday. Those blue Colorado skies, the perfectly paved path, the river that feeds us all, and the mountains that divide our continent. There is nothing in this world more beautiful than sweat trickling down a back, tight thigh muscles, clicking gears, and That View. I could live my whole life in that one hour, the numbness of nightmares disappearing with each and every mile.
Forget what she said on Friday. Or the horrible news that I might carry like a burden for three weeks and she will carry for a lifetime. Forget that I came home to discover my husband’s mother rests on her death bed and my little girls can’t quite wrap their minds around anything deeper than the five-house alley-walk to their friend’s house.
Forget it all for this one breath-stealing shout-out: Road, River, Range. Placed here for me, for all of us, to tackle with this perfect body someone gave me to live on this Earth.
The three R’s. Only a different lesson.
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