she tells the tale
from beginning to end
omitting no details
she includes the exposition
the rising action
and the climax
her wrist sliding into the air
with a blue band
so proud
only her mother’s daughter
could she be
my storyteller extraordinaire
it could be the Spanish-English mix
from the nanny’s mouth as we sat in the zoo,
my thoughts of the last day of summer
slipping from my hands
quicker than the tears
my baby cried to sleep with,
or the anger inside
that someone would pay another
for everything i love the most.
it could be the defriending,
his cold absence of words in my presence,
or her emphatic insistence
that eight months is enough
time with her baby
when a thousand years
would not satiate me.
it could be the story i love
coming to a bittersweet end,
or the small voices
absent from my home
on the one day when
i need them most.
but i will never be quite able
to define what haunts me.
Isabella
not a tear or a fear
you smile at adventure
we leave you for four days
and the silence of your absence
is brighter in my mind
than the happy photos
of your smiling face
that they send to us
Riona
words escape you
as you blink back dark eyes
and growing-out bangs,
hiding behind my leg,
your babyhood reemerging
yet
when they are gone
you endlessly request
the words that have filled our hearts
(after moments of hesitation)
they magically conjure from your mouth
Mythili
a pile of donated clothes
sit like humped garbage
on the living room floor
i open bags
sift through worn-out knees
and missing-mate shoes
Oh, I didn’t know new dresses were coming in
your six-year-old crone remarks,
lighting a fire beneath my doubts.
the rain beats down
as we stand in hushed surprise
rush to the endless line of cars
where we wait wait wait
always an adventure
the stars beat down
on a tent without poles
dirt as thick as cream on skins
fires that won’t start
always an adventure
the sun beats down
on a misnavigating device
streets clogged with crowds
underground cracks of hellish heat
always an adventure
my soul beats down
on two jobs, three kids
bills piling like paper mountains
parents who miss what i have:
always an adventure
just like the balloon animals
you have hidden in your suitcase
to the enthralled delight
of three learning-Spanish girls,
you are a rainbow of surprises
whose colors we cannot wait to discover.
i hand her wings
as i read about Icarus
to the two young buds
we open up Google
and relish in Breugel
as she calls to check in
she returns triumphant
waxed wings unmelted
no pledge to Apollo needed.
how can i explain
the twisted logic
she openly verbalizes
as we sift through photos
of smoke and ash?
she will only see (one day)
perfect reflection pools,
beams of light calling to heaven,
beautiful bright buildings
standing like shadows
in place of what was lost.
she will not remember
(or pull back tears as i do),
but look into the world
with the hope that
the twisted logic of those ‘pilots’
is left behind with the rubble
they wrapped in a flag and carried home.
she’s shoeless behind me
and he carries a load
worth a thousand pounds in gold
we coast down to the beach
(four miles from door to shore)
pedal harder home in summer rain
that tickles our backs
as thunder threatens our ears
this is the Vittetoe Express
missing a link along the line
broken into bright patches of light
as three girls, two chairs, two floaties,
one giant Camelbak,
and the love of my life
carry us home
Riona
curled in lap like kitten
you nestle in near the baby
remember that you are the baby
though simultaneously
you tag along with sisters and friends
try to partake
in your almost-five world
of big kid-dom
show your cousin how to hold a book
how to slide down the big slide
how to spray the hose
how to be
the beautiful little person
you have come to be
Isabella
whisperer
you listen in to all our conversations
picking out nuances
like the brightly colored beads
you choose for your necklaces
identifying each sparkling word
for its hidden meaning
whisperer
we stand along the fence
our neighing voices lost in the wind
you dash across, wipe the sky with your voice
high pitched and hard to hear
the horses listen, gallop
at the fence line in five seconds
your hand out with carrots as
thick equine lips pluck everything
from your fearless fingers
whisperer
you lift her out once
guide her to slides
push her in swings
she is head over heels
and denies me
only allows you
to wrap your arms around her
heave her up
change her diaper
and speak in a language
the adults can’t understand
Mythili
forethought and logic
shouldn’t quite fit
with a child younger than seven
yet you stop as sisters
blow away money with the wind
saving yours for something special
still trapped inside your imagination
you tell it like it is
pointing out the necessity of native plants
the reasoning behind new sidewalks
the purpose of cold hose water in the pool
i see you now
new front teeth coming in
i see you then
new world coming in
your forethought and logic
the backbone of who you are.
enter title here
gray words on a blue sky day
she crawls into my lap
between three margaritas
fifteen bicycle miles
and half the cottonwood-covered zoo
a boy would never do that
he informs us
letting us know how lucky we are
we are
we are
with three little-getting-bigger-every-day
girls
girls
girls
she is absent but we fill in her space
with life stories as twisted as the branches
on the half-dying ash
(the one holding the tire swing)
and the fajitas pop in our mouths
with songs of spicy Mexico
and we remember
(forget in the same moment)
how we came together
how so easily we could come apart
how we remember
how we forget
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