sycamore background
leads to multiracial swings
Jersey touching soul
Road Trip Haiku #8
sycamore background
leads to multiracial swings
Jersey touching soul
daughters
Brooklyn
he says it is a woman
but i know it is New York
if he had its blood burned
into his childhood
he would understand
just as my girls
who argue with him
about the name of the song
and count exit signs
along the interstate
we will be there soon
we will be there soon
we will walk across that bridge
and enter a new dimension
of the city we all know
as we close our eyes
and dream a new version of life
just like my great-grandfather
(the one i never knew)
who pulled my frail and tiny
great-grandmother across the sea
and saw the glorious light
of the Empire State
he will see
they will see
(when we walk across that bridge)
just how beautiful
a new life can be
Road Trip Haiku #3
rain in the Smokies
greening the enchanted woods
our daughters long for
Acceptance
message of love lost
beneath judgmental hatred
my girls will see love
I and Love and You
I and Love and You by The Avett Brothers
a year ago
a lifetime ago
i stood on this same step
i rang this same doorbell
i retrieved these same girls
i hardly knew you
i stood awkwardly
in your living room
trying to explain my taste in music
you cringed when i said folk
(perhaps you’d cry too
the first time you
heard their song on the radio)
we’ve made music since then
sometimes heavy metal
sometimes hip hop
just a taste of alternative
but you still haven’t heard my song
i stand on your doorstep now
you won’t answer so i walk in
(it is like home to me)
i pull them out of the room
three in a row, sleepy-eyed,
begging for breakfast
(they are starving)
you open your door
sleepy-eyed too
and there are no words
there are no lyrics
that can fall to the floor
in this awkward living room stance
as i shuffle our lives out the door
June (2012) Daughters
Riona
we walk Venice Beach
we’re offered everything
from CD ash trays,
a strip-tease picture with a dog
in a pink bikini,
and endlessly legal marijuana
(doctor on premises!)
mostly oblivious,
you trot alongside
and point to the homeless man
sitting in the lawn, complete
with office chair and
sleeping bag
i explain. you respond:
he lives outside?
in ALL that grass?
well that’s bigger than our house!
and your five-year-old wisdom
has made this beach day better.
Mythili
the conversations
in the 2000-mile backseat drive
are circular and cute
none cuter than
sisters, learning about the Gold Rush
from historical mama, declare,
We want to dig for gold in these mountains!
with your usual no-nonsense logic,
you casually reply,
You’re going to need a drill.
Isabella
for you,
a trip to California
is no more than an excuse
for a brand new story
to share with all your friends
upon your happy return
that’s my girl
That Would Be My Way
to have my life played out in notes–
that would be my way
there is music in the relentless wind,
in leaves that swoop seemingly silent to the ground
in the bubbly laughter of a small child
for me it would be more traditional—
the white piano keys overtaking a room
in a cacophony of melody,
the voice everyone hears and loves in
one swelling moment of listening lust,
notes drawn out in minds, hands, ever-tapping feet,
playing out my life—
that would be my way
to have my life played out in song—
that would be my way
lyrics that cling to my daughters’ voices
and follow them into adulthood,
harmonies holding up the background
of every overly dramatic scene,
the sharp choruses and smooth verses
of songs that soothe me to sleep—
that would be my way
Lighting Up My Lake
the sun beats its way into summer
and simmers along the shore.
all i see are sparkles
brighter than diamonds
lighting up my lake,
my little girls piling
watery sand on my
abandoned-nail-polish feet,
hazy mountains in the distance
popping under bright blue sky,
my Colorado begging me to stay
but i know, i know,
their sand-castle grins
captured in my shitty lens,
that i will be home,
we will be home,
as long as we’re together
Free
it’s not pizza
it’s Beau Jo’s
and we pile on honey
drive across grid-lined neighborhoods
and pray our van won’t die
between Denver and the suburbs
the kids are free tonight
we are free tonight
though strapped down by
a mortgage
two semi-functioning vehicles
endless governmental fees
and a dream that breaks my heart
every time the sun rises
Pandora nor my Mac
will play my music loud enough
i still love them anyway
and though we go to Spain
though we put our lives on the line
to go to Spain
i will love you anyway
Fit, Fits
i pull apart the pack-n-play–
one of my closest friend’s baby
will sleep here again tonight
it still fits him
(my girls are way outgrown)
and it still fits
in this ten by ten room
the room carpeted green
painted (nine months pregnant) white
that we built with sweat and tears
eleven years in the making
the room in our basement
now stacked with our lives–
books we cannot part from,
handmade quilts, knick-knacks,
art from my mother’s
most delicate brush and pencil,
all our family photos
he will sleep here tonight
(he still fits)
all our closets and walls are empty
(they all fit)
and i just wonder
as i see our life
in perfectly neat stacks–
how can we fit anywhere else?
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