childhood

You, Me, Him, Them

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

this is how it would be
you, me, him, them
being all grown up
while the kids
entertain themselves.

this is how it would be
if everything became
what we believed it would
back in the day
when dreams
were still imaginable.

this is how it would be
you, me, him, them
laughing into the night
eating delectable food
remembering our past,
planning for our future.

but it’s not,
and we all know
it never will be.
it will be just you and me
like always
talking about
you, me, him, them
and trying to figure out
where our dreams went awry.

Sarcasm

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

i’m so thrilled to know
that the class i dread the most
has the neediest, rudest students.

i’m so thrilled to see
that every imaginable computer problem
will happen seventh period.

i’m so thrilled to hear
how well my not-quite-eight-year-old
understands sarcasm.

i’m so thrilled to know
that you think i need to read a book about defiance
so i can begin to put her in line.

i’m so thrilled to remember
why it is that she and i were not defiant.
fear is a great facilitator of submission.

i’m so thrilled to hear
the temper tantrums and talking back
that follow me everywhere i go.

i’m so thrilled to be
in this place i cannot escape from,
in this hollow where i don’t know who i am.

let me be thrilled
about something for real:
that you will never read this
(not knowing who I really am).

Carry

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

as much as i hear what you say
i will never understand why.
how in any right mind
could five rooms full of
talking-back teenagers
ever compare
to the jubilant joy
of young children
dashing through the snow?

their voices carry
like songbirds emerged in winter,
shutting out all the
whipping wind’s hollowness.
yet,
you would rather be here,
trapped in our windowless dungeon,
feeding them the lines
you’ve spouted so many times?

i’ll take my two weeks
and carry them in my mind
on my forever vacation.
for now,
i will draw a zipper across my lips
and, for once, be polite.
after all,
this year cannot carry on,
and summer’s sun,
giggling girls,
and road trips
beckon my dreams
from your harsh reality.

December Daughters

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Miss Mythili

Miss Logical:
Daddy had to take a cold shower
because we took all the water
with our up-to-the-line bath.
Miss Tattle-Tale:
(whiny voice)Grandpa, Daddy has the binoculars
and he won’t let me have them!
Miss Manipulative:
I am not going to brush my teeth
or comb my hair until you give me Blankey.
Miss Dreamer:
Wait, star, I need to change my wish!
I actually don’t want to be
a monkey living in a tree.
Miss Imaginative:
(holding a broken piece of cilantro)
I just don’t understand why your
daughter would think it’s OK
to jump over the water like that.
Miss Mythili,
my ever-changing artistic child.

Riona

if i say no to your sister,
she stomps her feet
and demands justice.
if i say no to you,
you reluctantly leave the room,
rest your little legs on a chair,
and silently allow
the crocodile tears to flow down your cheeks.
how could i ever say no to the child
who can’t go an hour
without an I love you
or a kiss on the cheek
or a snuggle on the couch?

Isabella

in the course of a few months
of second grade,
you have learned the
kissing-marriage-baby-carriage song
and its R-rated 21st century version,
how to access the Internet
and what web sites have the best games,
how to apply lipstick
and pose like a model for pictures,
how to multiply and say
Newton’s laws of motion
in English and Spanish,
and how to grow up
too quickly right before my eyes.

Endless Arrays

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

this is what it could be like:
the drive along the curvy road,
the sleeping baby at home,
the seven of us occupying
every last seat in the van,
the mountains with their
endless array of snow,
our legs working their way
through drifts and down slopes,
the warming hut that
warms our hearts,
the children with their
endless array of happiness;
you here, the four of us together,
just as all families should be.

Underbelly

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

we are here now,
sister, brother-in-law, niece,
grandparents who have filled
the underbelly of the tree
with Wal-mart’s
explosion of Chinese reality.

he and i lie in the dark
on our basement floor mattress,
the tint of the waning moon
lingering light upon his whiskered face.

Santa has already arrived,
stripped down because
the underbelly of the tree
regurgitated its recklessness.

i will never forget,
i tell him,
this time at my own
grandparents’ house,
when my mother,
her measly salary
half of my father’s pittance,
after seeing the
gifts my grandmother
inundated us with,
turned to him and said,
‘I hate being poor.‘

i try to remember this
as we rise before the sun,
set up the camera
in anticipation of their anxious faces,
and spend hours
exchanging money, goods
from the underbelly of the tree
that seems to mock,
wealth, wealth, wealth
with its shedding branches
that drop needles
like tears onto the hardwood.

Christmas Come Early

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the tears disappear
as we light the fire
and with Amaretto in my belly
and Christmas music
dancing its way across the room,
they talk us into
Christmas come early.

it is only a few hours, really,
and the daylight
would steal the mood
we have set from years past.

ten minutes later,
the few gifts are opened,
and three little girls
play dress-up,
performing their
latest dance songs
for the video camera.

this is as small and simple
as i would ever like it to be:
the Scotch pine,
the warm fire,
the relishing of items
shared by all,
the love of what is here
and what is not here
all in the same moment.

Christmastime Glitter

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it could be the lights
twinkling like miniatures stars
or the people walking
hand in hand,
or the horses’ hooves
that sparkle
in Christmastime glitter

or it could be
the three little girls
in footed pajamas
covered in heavy coats,
fleecy hats, and snow boots,
drawing attention
from passersby
about our new fashion trend.

it could be the
fresh baked zucchini cake
with sprinkly cream cheese frosting,
the hot eggnog latte,
the grasshopper chocolate,
that ride down into our stomachs
on a warm sled of delectability.

whatever it is,
the lights, the girls, the food,
it is home, city, love.

Devoured

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

how to feed six children:
mix one pound of beef,
one pound of pasta,
a giant jar of tomatoes,
two cups of white sauce,
a few kid-friendly spices,
and place it on the table.

fifteen minutes later,
after firsts and seconds are devoured,
put in a movie and wait.
they’ll wander into the kitchen
one at a time,
begging to be fed again.

get out the half gallon
of ice cream and
place it on the table.
five minutes later,
after firsts and seconds are devoured,
brush their teeth and put them to bed.

when the sun rises,
repeat,
repeat,
repeat.

Always

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

what words can i say
twelve hundred miles away?
you are still the girl
with the giant bubble in your mouth,
the sprayed-up bangs
and over-sized boys’ sneakers.
aren’t you?

now a mother like me
a young mother of three
and your pain hides behind your words
just as i hide mine in these poems.
will it wait there,
hidden in scripted messages,
until someone with the right
encryption has the power to release it?

what can i say
twelve hundred miles away?
these words are too late
for amends and lost time.
but i will still put them here
for you to remember the childhood
we shared, the happiness
that hides behind the words,
that, just like the pain,
will find its way out,
ready to release you
into the person you have always been
and always will be.