in a search for faith
we forget humanity
in all its beauty
we judge; don’t reach out,
cast stones without confession
pit love against faith
flags fly in all camps
begging for new believers
each claiming the truth
what if we used hearts?
and arms and hugs and kisses?
would we be sinful?
here we lose our faith
in a connection-less void
we call religion
choices
Voices
younger girls’ voices
marred by oldest’s attitude
they just want to sing
i just want to hear
all their tiny voices sing
like when they were tots
concert on the green
plagued by rain, adolescence,
unforgiving looks
at home, peace returns
Daddy’s voice sings poetry
as he says goodnight
the oldest studies
in her hole of happiness
escapes into books
my voice escapes me
don’t know how to talk to her
no voice of reason
will she hear my voice
when in my dreams, she listens?
gives voice to my joy?
we all have choices
to hear the ‘tude or the song
listen… sweet voices!
Winding Wounds
no way to see her
as the crazy little girl
now so close to teen
i’d rewind our lives
to bring back those soft moments
without dirty looks
alas, i chose this
and still love her–so fiercely–
love can’t be rewound
What Makes a Marriage
The campground we paid $57 to reserve was covered in snow. Bruce texted me at 2:52 and said we had to cancel. I thought of six devastated girls and my Jordan National Forest upbringing. “Just drive down 285. Surely there’s something.” He reluctantly agreed to meet me in Buena Vista. At 8pm, we pulled into our non-campground, no-bathroom site and fixed Spanish dinner by 19:30. 😉 The next morning it rained/hailed for 3.5 hours, ending with a frightening lightning storm when I said, “Kids, get in the car! NOW!!” And I blessed the lord to let him drive…. Up the road and into a mud pit. He screamed, cried out, “Our brand new car!! Why did I do that?! Why did we come on this trip?!!” And I opened my door, stepped in 7 inches of mud, and walked 100 yards to a camp full of 4-wheel-drive fanatics who came with their tow line and Jeep Rubicon and pulled all 8 of us, Pilot and all, right out of that pit of hell. And he drove reverse for a quarter mile (something I could never do) and the hail melted and the rain stopped and that’s. What makes a marriage.
Folktale
so the oppositeÂ
mud lightning storm Pilot stuck
i’ll step in the mudÂ
you will cry, complain
say this trip is time’s vengeanceÂ
but i will find helpÂ
through lightning, thunder
better than sickness and health
i will walk through mudÂ
and find solutionsÂ
to every last thing you hate
yet me you soooo love
and i will get help
and tow you from hell. and back.
my love is that. deep.
misadventure? tale.
that is my thought as i walk.
you and i? tale told.
A Visit from Charles Schwab
a day off of work
for three hours with students
plus!–small donation
refugees’ lives
summarized in two chapters,
questions that plague them
if they saw their day,
their actual student day,
they might learn something
instead, they murmur
over plot complexities
and students’ English
they might realize,
when to mansions they return,
the true complex plot:
they can’t give answers
to high school reading questions
nor inequity
work, in equities:
invest in students, not stocks.
buy them a future.
Yesterday…
the very next day
frustration rules parenthood
can’t i just have peace?
Cuando Era Puertorriqueña
one out of seven
fought back poverty with books
same family, same chance
i see my students
make these same choices–young! yet–
old enough to know
should i fight for them?
for a dream they look for?
or is it my dream?
this i’ll never know
but i’d be one of seven
and fight my way out
Branches
long lost love story
to their eyes, ears, phones win all
can’t they see beauty?
dirty jokes revealed
modern film adaptation
i still can’t win them
sometimes the weight wins
bearing down on my heartstrings
i question my choice
they go home, forget
(just another stupid class)
for me, a heartache
i search in branches
for tomorrow’s brighter sky
let the clouds break free
Freestyle
a simple haircut
butchered by barbers for years
no one knows curls
and yet, i love it
no hair in face, no tangles
nothing but freedom
if scissors make me
free from society’s rules
why not keep it short?
more than a haircut
freestyle manifesto
for feminism
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