a twelve-year journey
to our perfect family car
three rows of happy
Pilot
a twelve-year journey
to our perfect family car
three rows of happy
daughters
Teacher Mother Prayer
headstand of success
to top a sunny work week
filled with teenage grins
plan for our future
money’s tight, love is tighter
let’s let loose the strings
all of my children
wrapped in a challenging pose
namaste, my soul
Doors
absenteeism
shuffles in a class bully
to begin my day
meeting turned sour
by news of favorite students
choosing other schools
(but i don’t blame them
after my reception here
and structure-less rules)
lunch: a cruel email
brings sixty minutes on hold
all for eight digits
if i had those numbers
for what i should earn each day
this wouldn’t matter
dean’s accusation
ends my locked-door afternoon
loss, theft, and questions
at home, door swings wide
my baby with arms open
smile bright as birth
we draw skating paths
multicolored chalk, sunsets
stress melts into love
Super Sunday
icy wonderland
perfect for dolls and yoga
warm inside Sunday
wrapped up for movies
stovetop cinnamon popcorn
cuddles all around
this is what love is
the everyday joys measured
with quiet moments
The Cyclist’s Dilemma
he will not forgive
shuns me in once warm places
i will not forget
in tears, she begs me
just get them started–i can’t–
grief bursts into halls
all papers graded
i read Spanish in silence
wait for final bell
a windy walk home
trailed by one-car dilemma
my cyclist shines
headlamp, gloves ready
January? my mistress
cycle through my stress
my peace offering:
the book he wanted to read
(he puts me on stage)
humiliate me?
i crave the Spanish smiles
he doesn’t know me
a windy ride home
cold clings to my clothes with hugs
cheeks on girls’ warm cheeks
this brief moment here
is all i’ve seen them today
my cycle spins on
Mother to Daughter
Modeled after “Mother to Son” by Langston Hughes
Well, daughter, I’ll tell you,
Life for me hasn’t been an easy download.
It’s had loading time
and viruses,
and malware warnings,
and hard drive crashes,
and places with no wifi at all—
dead.
But all the time
I’ve been surfing along,
and reaching social media,
and writing blog posts,
and saving work to Drop Box,
and sometimes going through the Google maze
where ten million links can’t answer my query.
So, girl, don’t shut down.
Don’t you give in to the start menu.
Because when you find it’s hard to wait
you know the pinwheel of death will stop spinning
And I’m still surfing,
I’m still keeping my screen on,
And life for me hasn’t been an easy download.
Climate Change
winter rollerblades
spray-bottle paths formed by girls
with no snow in sight
a sunny walk home
January thaws… nothing
worried hidden joy
oh but their smiles!
the earth is dying, but them?
they’re just having fun
i skate after them
till the sun escapes the day
tuck sorrow to bed
we all have our paths
formed by small hands and big hearts
climate changes us
Sunday Sundae
January sun
makes summer out of winter
joyful ice cream stroll
Ski Time
wind and commitment
to ski, to time i don’t have
(nor money… either)
grumpy beginnings
end with every ten feet stops
and i want to quit
but then i’m alone
and make this my mountain home
if only a day
their end-of-day grins
make me rethink my lost time
lost heart, yes… now won
Stopping by a Mansion in my Neighborhood
Modeled after “Stopping in the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost
Whose house this is I think I know
His wealth is in his business though
He will not see me nosing in
Or what news I’ll take when I go.
My little girls must think it odd
To stop here, so detached from God
Where money rules the heart’s desire,
To darkest greed he gives a nod.
They pull my wrists and ask to leave
And wonder why it is I grieve
The only other sound’s the truck
That brings his gold out to his sieve
The house is lovely, tall, and grand
But I will not lose where I stand:
With them I have the upper hand,
With them I have the upper hand.
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