like a monster in the night
it keeps us from taking flight
sickness looms and then destroys
all our plans and travel joys
why must it creep into our life
filling us with unwanted strife?
if i could wipe it clean i would
monster killer, if just i could.
but, so sadly, i must subside
allow the illness to decide
when it comes and when it departs
raising and dropping anxious hearts
Isabella
you have tears again.
they mimic mine like a shadow of myself.
how could you know?
how could you put your heart
into this overly-nostalgic,
made-for-my-generation movie
and cry just as i do?
because you are mine.
my first to witness the struggles
of young motherhood.
my first to test out all my
ridiculous rules.
my first to see the truth
behind the words i try to hide from you.
my first.
and that is why we share these tears,
this joy that comes from
our dual-beating hearts,
our love,
our first. forever. bond.
Mythili
i hated seven.
you take it in stride
with a new mouth
that you’re not afraid to show off.
you memorize music
and pedal across six blocks.
you state logically the reason
behind every decision i make.
you point out the intricacies
of school regulations.
you know by heart the page
with the map of Madrid.
you have a plan,
sure and steady,
and by golly my Mythili,
you’re going to fulfill it.
Riona
you burst down the stairs
in your oversized Daisy shirt,
follow me around the store,
a small shadow to the boisterous girls.
you stand smaller than all
as they sing along to the words they read,
and your lips move into circles of want
and cuteness too beautiful to capture.
you are the baby
who still sucks her thumb,
whose long eyelashes beat back
the quiet fear in her eyes.
you will always be smaller than them,
my cuddly, lovey girl,
the one whose warmth
stays with me even after
i have left the room.
Isabella
you are too tall now
to stand as i braid your hair
your bridal veil and dress
await a night of tricks and treats
you tell me
i always wanted my hair like yours
when i tell you it’s my wedding day ‘do
and i think
how can this be,
my fingers intertwining strands of three
on my girl growing up
too fast before me?
Mythili
you take the words
from your sister’s homework
cup them in your hands
carry them in your heart
tap them with love
and pencil-thin art onto the paper
fold your story in half
and melt my motherly eyes
with your Spanish gift.
Riona
you move your way
through piles of work
with little whimpers of want
but tenacity gets you through
just as your patient smile
carries you through
everything else set before you.
they take bottles of clear liquid
wipe the sinks, mirrors, toilets
while we toil with decluttering
and four levels of vacuuming
all before eleven when we
snap ourselves into the tiny car
and drive along sun-streamed streets,
the leaves dancing before us,
letting loose green and gold shade.
we stop and walk to the apple stand
and buy small imperfects
that their hands grasp, juice dripping
before we’ve even ordered souvlaki gyros
to sit on the bench in the shade
and eat with Greek lemon-chicken soup
(i’ll never remember the name).
they skip back to the car
a menagerie of dresses and pants,
and trick-or-treat street awaits
as they measure their steps on the map
sucking in the sun of this Sunday.
we move on to the store that started it all,
the giant scoops of homemade dreams
melting along the sides of the cones
and as we buy our drinks for another day
we move to the library, their singsong voices
unable to contain their excitement over books.
we stop for gas, pack tomorrow’s clothes, lunch,
and evening seeps in to the autumn afternoon
they sit down to veggie sliders
and question our music
and ride their bikes into the night
and remind me
again
again
again
how simply perfect life can be.
i will rise and wash away this day
i will remember yesterday
the passion that sandwiched
morning and night
the friendlovefriendlove
that has become my life
i will take my daughters’ words
embrace them in my arms
instead of throwing them back
i will be a new tomorrow
Mythili
you are still my little girl
though you try to pop out
adult (somewhat crooked) teeth
and blend Spanish and English
easily into your imaginary life
among friends you are a leader
(no tag-along little sister role)
and you wait
so anxiously wait
until you are big enough to ride
Isabella’s bike,
to read Isabella’s stories,
to find the right way to
wake up on early school mornings
in our troop,
you are Magical Mythili,
the perfect name
for the creative artist
born from the
destined-to-be-crone
little baby whose head
turned to see me walk
into the room
forty-eight hours
after birth.
Isabella
all of a sudden
you have decided
that you’re a reader
it is a simple statement,
one you would wash off your back
like the layers of shampoo
you push aside
but to me
watching you read
Laura Ingalls Wilder
just like i used to
it means more than
the thousands of words
filling your brain,
making you mine
Riona
every day a new song
a new dance
a new Spanish phrase
a new smile
from my newly school-aged girl
i was worried.
you know that
or you don’t.
you’re small.
tire easily.
timid.
dependent.
oh so calm and pleasant
the perfect student
who hugs goodbye
a friend
whose name you won’t mention
who shies away from
the video of your
performance at the assembly
who is everything
and more
than i could ever
ask you to be.
email daughter’s teacher
who doesn’t know how to read
pick up nuts
because i’m going crazy
learn Castilian Spanish
so i can speak to roommates
intervene in group work
for groups who won’t work
teach daughter to read
because schools don’t work
sit in meetings that don’t apply to me
so i can’t do my work
ride my bike to work
so i can see the moonset/sunrise
try to remember
that i cannot
make a list
that will quite
change the way the world works
the space between
when that light counts down
and how sore my muscles will be
is immeasurable
but i can measure the speed
of my tires through
the intersection
a dream in the making
i beat the limit
and make it in time
to hear thrilled immeasurable
screams of my beauties
from the window
i hear a scream,
a bloodcurdling cry
and the baby spatting
at the middle child,
I didn’t bite you
as hard as you bit me!
this after ten miles
for my eight-year-old’s legs
pedaling like a pro
along a creek-crowded path,
hula-hooping for the band
while the little ones
played imaginary games
in the trailer
and i think,
wet dishes from grandmotherly
meal in hand,
how is it that i must discipline
this moment of violence
when i cannot keep
the smile from my face?
in your absence
there is nothing but silence
i wait for your return
but the dead air is thick
choking back the guilt
that bubbles up
with work done
nothing left to do but wait
you will pour in
a waterfall cacophony of sound
take every waking moment
to be your exuberant selves
and i will feel a Saturday
that belongs to us
not me
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