choices

Carte du Jour

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

what’s the difference? simple, really.
with you, everything is vague and humorous.
with them, direct and consequential.
for me, I would rather take my chances
with a small taste of brutal honesty than
with a whole menu of unknowns.

it amazes me how they, having never
been that close to me, seem to understand
that better than you, who have
opened (and closed) the menus on the food
we share so many times that you’ve
forgotten that I have been here all along.

perhaps you will notice my absence
(perhaps not). either way, I will be taking
delectable nibbles from the dishes they share,
throwing in my hot spices, my sweet vanilla,
and together we will create a carte du jour
that you might admire, but will never taste.

Every Moment

/ lovizmytrio / 2 Comments

I remember nights without sleep
and cries without consolation
diaper bags and strollers a must
for even the simplest outings

now their once-wispy hair is
tied back in tight braids and
their cries are aimed at each other
with bitter words to match.

a blur it’s been, baby years gone,
relinquished first to toddlerhood
and now we’re full-on childhood
their lives zipping by me

before I can even sit on the swing
with their daddy and reminisce
the time that is happening now,
they will be all grown up.

(I will remember this when I
hold my hand to a feverish forehead,
when they pitch a fit and act their age,
when I think every moment is too much)
because every. moment. counts.

Face

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Without this, we wouldn’t be here today—
I would still carry the guilt
that hovered ghostlike in my soul
for eight harrowing years
and you would still not know
what it was I had done to you
(some might say that’s better)

but you and I, we both know
that the blemish I could never
quite cover up bumped out
on the face of our love and your
discovery became the astringent
we both needed to wash it away.

now we face our future together
you with the phantom of a beard,
me with my imperfect (but so
loved by you) freckled skin,
and I know that without this…
(pain? grief? remorse?)
we wouldn’t know how to face
whatever will come tomorrow.

Defining Potential

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Physics: stored energy
(marble at the top of the hill)
waiting for its chance to convert
into kinetics (move it baby)

Latin: potentia (power)
derived from potent
(being able) to do whatever
it is you have the potential to do.

Humans: we are the marbles
waiting at the top of the slope
for our chance to convert ourselves
into a movement that will change the world.

Sapphire Sparkle

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It wasn’t enough that we had flown
twelve hundred miles and driven three hundred more—
(the Grand Canyon beckoning another set of tourists)
the pennies my parents handed me to shop with
weren’t enough
(and not because I needed those things)

row after row of turquoise and silver
birds carved out of bone
earrings that dangled or
popped perfectly in the hole
tiny tables shaded from the desert sun
the dust gathering at their feet
like milkweed clinging to the skin
their eyes almond dark
weathered as much as the hands
that wove thick cotton blankets
too heavy to wear here
necklaces that reflected
the perfect polished moments of the morning,
silver that couldn’t be tarnished
with anything less than
the strength of the hands that worked it.

those hands, those faces, were what
my nine-year-old heart ached to buy,
not the sapphire sparkle of turquoise,
but the poverty that seeped
through their thin cotton dresses and trousers,
the braids that hung down their back, frizz-less,
the forced smiles that begged, begged to sell;
but we were poor too (riding in my grandpa’s
ancient station wagon, two years of careful
saving to buy the plane tickets, clothes cousinly
hand-me-downs, camping along the road)
and I knew I could never buy enough
to give them back what so many generations
had already taken away.

Admission

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calling me out in front of them all
isn’t the way to get to the truth
because it’s more polite for me
(as my mother always said)
to admit nothing at all
than to lie to your face

your reaction is as ironic as if
you’d admitted me into your classroom
to run it one day (my way)
only for you to pat me on the back
and thank me for the gift
(the gift that in three years
you wouldn’t allow me to give you)

but I will seal my lips this one time
(though I admit you know me well)
and use the scapegoat I have stood by
all these months, tucking it in my
pocket in case of further inquisitions,
though you and I both know why
I’ll (you’ll) never admit the truth.

Stuff (or, Ode to Consumption)

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flashing before me is the feed
that calls my name as if I need
the crap that comes across the screen
but I know what they really mean

the story of stuff is a frightening tale
that bends and breaks without fail
our morals, our love, our time on earth
are deteriorating with every thing’s birth

how can we stop this sick disease
that they tell us is all we need to please
ourselves on a planet being destroyed
swallowed by corporations’ void?

stop, stop, stop, at every door
of every store that sells you more
of every item you really don’t need
so that our future will take heed

your families, your faith, are on the line
you can make a difference with this design
hug your kids, buy things used, go to the park
but never say that I left you in the dark

20 Rules to Live By

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

For myself and my daughters.

1. Enjoy life. It’s too short not to.
2. Set goals for yourself. Put them in writing so you’ll follow through.
3. Choose your dreams wisely.
4. Motherhood is the most important job in the world. Remember that when your kids have been bickering all day and you just want to shove them in front of the TV.
5. Be open-minded. Accept people for who they are and don’t waste your time trying to change them.
6. Eat healthily, but enjoy treats. Life needs a bit of sweetness.
7. Make time for yourself and your personal pleasures no matter how much else you have to do.
8. Honesty is always best. Two-faced behavior is atrocious.
9. Exercise regularly. You might not get sick all winter. Or all year.
10. Be a leader for the next generation.
11. Protect the earth. It’s the only one we have.
12. Give your time and money and clothing to charity. And not for tax purposes.
13. Sleep at least seven hours every night.
14. Reflect on your mistakes, but don’t dwell on them. Change who you are because of them.
15. A good marriage can keep your life on the right track. A bad one will shove you off into the ditch. Marry the right person.
16. Don’t force other people to believe what you believe. Just listen. And share.
17. Education is never ending and is the best way to keep your mind open.
18. Love should be the focus of all you do.
19. Travel. It will open your eyes to more than you could ever imagine.
20. Keep your friends close and be for them everything that you want them to be for you.

Runaway

/ lovizmytrio / 5 Comments

Red-and-white-striped shirted
Teddy bear in hand
(his name later became Todd),
I threw an outfit into a bag
and stomped out of the house,
walking up the hill to the only
place I knew to go—
the elementary school.

With my bull horns
shining, I didn’t even look back
until I heard the rumbling
of the rusty blue Datsun
and my mother’s
screaming-banshee voice
telling me to get inside.

I don’t recall what the
original argument was over,
just that she had
raised her voice one
too many times that day,
and my six-year-old patience
had come to a bitter end.

At dinner that night,
she tried to hug me
and sternly whispered in my ear,
“Don’t you ever do that again,”
but her arms were stiff boards,
her skin was as cold as the wind on my walk,
her voice was icy glass,
and I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

Decisions, Decisions

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

What can I capture from today?

The angry parent email
with threat to principal and
superintendent, all over a book
she shouldn’t have read
(for surely she didn’t understand
its genuine meaning)?

The morose groans of CSAP prep
and note-taking
that I put my students through
year after year
(yet do they listen)?

Or

The perfect rectangle of dough
rolled and ready to fill
with a mix of scallions, dill,
butter, garlic, and parsley
(everything already chopped)
laid out by my husband’s hands?

The well-behaved seven-year-old
daughter who carried in posters,
collected pennies for tastes,
sat listening to every presentation
and (for once)
asked permission before every request?

The gutak herb fritters
and sour cream, cider vinegar,
lemon-pepper sauce
that filled everyone’s faces
with smiles and everyone’s
stomachs with thanks?

The choice,
just like my fretful decision to bake,
my too-young-to-be-married decision to marry,
my too-early-for-grandkids decision to have them anyway,
is obvious.