if i could be any animal,
i’d never choose
a ferocious lion,
a bravely scavenging bear,
a hawk hunting all night.
how silly
to think anyone would.
i’d be you, of course,
my always-a-baby Chihuahua
curled up on top of her owner’s cold feet,
snuggled under blankets all winter,
given scraps right from the fork,
sleeping and loving and breathing.
yes, that’s the life.
no hunting, scavenging, ferocity.
just peace, love, simplicity.
just you and me girl.
they’re all decked out for
the devil’s birthday
(Hallelujah!)
in Princess Mulan,
clown, cheerleader,
lion, samurai, and pirate.
no hallelujah party for us tonight,
but steps down dark streets
ringing doorbells
and saying hello to neighbors
whose blown-up pumpkin balloons
hover like glowing monsters
over the kids’ trail of treats.
we’re devilish, aren’t we?
letting them plan out this night
for months, pulling seeds from pumpkins,
creating costumes to die for,
seeing them work up a sweat
in their mad dash for candy?
yes, we’ve missed the hallelujah party,
given in
to the American dream of Halloween,
but for one night a year,
when we all pretend to be
something other than ourselves,
when we all remember
the thrilled excitement of the candy rush,
i think this steals the devil’s show.
this is just to say
i have taken all the money
from our account
in order to buy wholesome food
for our children
for us
for one week
and i wish
that the government
would subsidize health
rather than
corn, soybeans, and wheat
so that perhaps
for more than a week
we could know
just what we were putting
into our mouths,
our stomachs,
our lives.
I am the empress
you the emperor
as you sit for over a month,
our young tucked
beneath your flaps of skin, fur
protected from windy storms
harsher than hell
while I waddle my way
across Antarctica,
weak from giving birth,
starved from lack of fish,
the iciness engulfing me
until I feel I can move no more.
But it is you,
it is them,
huddled together in fatherly love,
that push me forward,
reaching the sea
with its wealth of life,
bringing it back
for you, for them,
for all of us to taste
as we form a new season.
thanks for the quick
and painful reminder
of why i never ask you for anything.
i’ll just tuck it under my sleeve
with all the others
that are crammed somewhere
in my layers of clothing
and try to use your reminder
(and its inability to keep me warm)
as a reminder
of how much more
i need to
reach out to them,
strip them free
of useless, painful notes
and wrap them in
the warmth of love
that your reminder
has tried to take from my heart.
I am in a hollow now
wishing it weren’t so damp
the wind beating at my branches
as i reach for warmth
instead i double up my layers
like a bear fattening for winter
making my insular depth
as welcoming as the wind will allow.
there’s time to think, to look at
the small ones surrounding me
more closely, to hear the silence that
plays behind the gales’ haunting chords.
perhaps i have chosen this place,
perhaps it has chosen me. but i
will wait until i hear more than silence.
i will wait until i hear peace in my heart.
i’m the one who can’t sit still
whose lazy days are always filled
with activities to keep at bay
every moment of every day
why do i work so hard, so long?
to answer my internal song
my mother’s steadfastness asks
only that i complete my tasks.
for all my life i’ll be her child
walking door to door, mile to mile
i’m the one who can’t sit still
without busy-ness, my life’s not filled.
some shop for the latest fashion
some shop for gems and jewels
i shop for the gems and jewels
of harvest,
choosing with a critical eye
only the latest, greatest styles:
heirloom potatoes
that melt in my mouth like
smooth cream,
zucchini longer than my forearm
to be chopped and diced
and catapulted into recipes,
red bell peppers to top
hand-tossed, homemade pizza,
tomatoes perfectly plump
to sauce up our lives,
peaches for pies and jams,
carrots (cheap and easy)
to fill the girls’ lunch sacks,
and apples.
apples of every variety,
their taste carrying me through the year,
their travels from the
western slope
filling my bag, basket, bushel
until i work with them
two days straight,
coring, cutting, cooking, canning,
jars of applesauce, apple butter
making the house smell
like a cinnamon dream,
lined up on the shelf:
the shiniest, most fashionable
gems and jewels
of golden red
to decorate my style.
i drank too much
and learned that i can fit
a day’s worth of clothes
a bungee cord
a pair of gloves
an oversized computer cord
a MacBook
and a six-pack of vanilla porter
in my saddle bag
(though the bike will tip if i let go).
this is a list poem
so let me add
that with the shower
the lack of wash cloths
and the realization
that towels were in the dryer,
he and i shared a single hand towel
to dry our dripping skin,
got out the exercise ball
and had us a real ball
(punny, right? it was.)
what could i fit in a Friday?
a five a.m. bike ride
seven classes
three 200-hundred-word posts
a happy two hours
with five friends at the bar
finishing my latest novel
dinner with my family
and love with my husband.
i heard what happened
in a roundabout way
as all families today,
over Internet connections
and telephone lines,
communicating the news
of those who can’t communicate.
i cringed in my mixture of pain, guilt,
of love, sorrow, my emotions
breeding from those moments
in my childhood when i sat,
holed up under my blankets
in a dark room of punishment,
wishing i could be instead
in your arms, your wet kisses
rough on my cheek, your
planned-out dinners and desserts
waiting for approval,
your I love yous ending every sentence.
instead, you have been moved
from one dark room of punishment
to another, shuffled around
like a naughty child,
no parent (child or grandchild)
able to solve the dilemma of your age.
i am one of them,
two generations down,
with young children of my own
who will never sit in a room
wishing for your warmth.
all i can do with
the electronically-presented words
still ringing in my ears,
is hole up in my room of punishment
and wish that i had called you
before they took your phone away,
wish that i had visited
before He took your mind away.
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