July Daughters (2011)

Isabella

not a tear or a fear
you smile at adventure
we leave you for four days
and the silence of your absence
is brighter in my mind
than the happy photos
of your smiling face
that they send to us

Riona

words escape you
as you blink back dark eyes
and growing-out bangs,
hiding behind my leg,
your babyhood reemerging

yet

when they are gone
you endlessly request
the words that have filled our hearts
(after moments of hesitation)
they magically conjure from your mouth

Mythili

a pile of donated clothes
sit like humped garbage
on the living room floor

i open bags
sift through worn-out knees
and missing-mate shoes

Oh, I didn’t know new dresses were coming in
your six-year-old crone remarks,
lighting a fire beneath my doubts.

Always an Adventure

the rain beats down
as we stand in hushed surprise
rush to the endless line of cars
where we wait wait wait
always an adventure

the stars beat down
on a tent without poles
dirt as thick as cream on skins
fires that won’t start
always an adventure

the sun beats down
on a misnavigating device
streets clogged with crowds
underground cracks of hellish heat
always an adventure

my soul beats down
on two jobs, three kids
bills piling like paper mountains
parents who miss what i have:
always an adventure

Unmelted

i hand her wings
as i read about Icarus
to the two young buds

we open up Google
and relish in Breugel
as she calls to check in

she returns triumphant
waxed wings unmelted
no pledge to Apollo needed.

Twisted Logic

how can i explain
the twisted logic
she openly verbalizes
as we sift through photos
of smoke and ash?

she will only see (one day)
perfect reflection pools,
beams of light calling to heaven,
beautiful bright buildings
standing like shadows
in place of what was lost.

she will not remember
(or pull back tears as i do),
but look into the world
with the hope that
the twisted logic of those ‘pilots’
is left behind with the rubble
they wrapped in a flag and carried home.

Farewell

Insomnia, guilt, and a conversation I had today are the inspiration for this post. Why can’t I sleep when certain thoughts creep into my brain? More importantly, why can’t I let things, people, or “friends” go?

It’s all about the brownies. If you had one day inadvertently come across this recipe as I did, you would understand. The scrumptious perfection of these brownies, modified by my specification of Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate chips and dutch process cocoa, make every morsel a delectable experience. When I first started making them, it was an occasional treat, a decadence the whole family could enjoy. But I was quick to discover that they don’t last, that from-scratch bakery items must be enjoyed to their fullest almost immediately after emerging from the oven, or all sense of richness is lost. And so I brought a few to work. The reaction was astounding, and people began to ask about them. I brought in a few more. Soon I was making weekly batches of brownies and bringing the entire 9×13 pan into work, cutting them up, bagging them individually, and setting aside corners for certain colleagues and the coveted “center cuts” for a special few.

So as I lay in bed just now, thinking about the F-bomb and my purposeful use of it under imperative circumstances when the whole FUCKING world ought to agree it is necessary, I started adding up the ingredients of my weekly brownie list. Fifteen brownies a week, four eggs, two sticks of butter, a bag of chocolate chips, one and a quarter cup of cocoa, a tablespoon of premium vanilla, one and a quarter cup of flour, two cups of sugar, one teaspoon of baking soda, fifteen sandwich baggies. What does it add up to? $10 a week, $40 a month, 10 months in a school year, $400 a year.

Now let’s talk about my coworkers, who have two incomes and car payments and student loans and childcare expenses and every other FUCKING excuse in the world to NOT have any money. And me, family of five, ONE income, NO debt (other than a mortgage), who rides my ass up thirteen miles of hills with those heavy ass brownies ON MY BICYCLE and specifically sets aside the best cuts for the BEST people, and I am spending $400 a year so that if I USE THE WORD FUCK ON FACEBOOK I GET DE-FRIENDED??

That’s it. Farewell to the fucking brownie list.

Door to Shore

she’s shoeless behind me
and he carries a load
worth a thousand pounds in gold
we coast down to the beach
(four miles from door to shore)
pedal harder home in summer rain
that tickles our backs
as thunder threatens our ears

this is the Vittetoe Express
missing a link along the line
broken into bright patches of light
as three girls, two chairs, two floaties,
one giant Camelbak,
and the love of my life
carry us home

Bloodletting

it has seeped out overnight
the words lie flat in mountain noon sun
hidden behind pale shadows
unable to fight back the bright

you say to him what i say to mine
i can feel the oozing out of veins
as the peaks disappear in the rearview mirror
skyscrapers nestling us into our nest

i will be weaker now as in those past pale moments
your secrecy lost upon me
but lighter too with the capillary release
of tiny heart drops draining to the ground

Serpent

a black snake making its way
curvacious and thick,
scales glistening in early morning,
ropelike muscles ride its back,
snaking our way
slither by slither
amidst shiny pops of dashing-past eyes,
past the ponderosa pines
into thin air above treeline

it snaps its rattle
one last switchback bite,
a venomous sting near the clouds,
but we bite back
bask in the surreptitious sun
that mocks the wind
and begin again,
rattle on top
spiky teeth taking us down
until once again
we have conquered the serpent.

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