daughters

March (2011) Daughters

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Riona

i will not forget these moments:
your tea party picnic
Charlotte and all
plastic food eaten
and regurgitated for later.

your thrill at holding the yoke
carrying buckets of water from well
being four and a half years
full of smiles.

your dances/songs
where you spin on sticky bare feet
and intertwine your love for me
with utterances of sisterly annoyances.

your hands held defiantly high
when they try to mock you:
I AM ONLY FOUR
in beauteous indignation.

Mythili

you’ve been duped.
i couldn’t tell you
couldn’t find the words
for me taking a day off
driving you to the dentist
forcing you to sit in the chair.

you sit silent as a stone
as the laughing gas
is put like clown’s nose
into your lungs.
they say how good you are
again and again.

he cuts into your gums
and i watch as your fists clench,
but not a tear streaks down,
not a grumble or whine.

we move to the car,
plastic jewelry prizes in hand.
i buckle you in
and you shoot me the
you tricked me look.

we arrive home
to a fridge full of
pudding, jello, ice cream.
you remember you are six
(not all grown up)
and break into a jubilant smile.

Isabella

you won’t listen
but you’ll direct.
Pull the tails off like this.
I’ll hold my fingers. You count.
Find the letter M.
Twist the bottom of the toothbrush.

like a monkey you climb
onto the counter
scavenging for spoons
plates
glassware
assigning seats at the table
with the air of a hostess

i remember when
the other babies were here.
you couldn’t walk,
but you climbed right into
the patio chair
giggling like a gorilla
posing proudly
at your accomplishments,
confident then,
leader now.

Sunday

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

we move through Sunday
finishing written work
reading words from foreigners
disappearing into imaginary worlds.

we step into the reality
of controlled chaos,
endlessly flashing lights,
banging balls, screaming children.

birthday party aside, we slip into nature,
our shoes sliding across dirt
that tickles the wind with views
of waterfowl-filled wetlands.

this isn’t the church he grew up with
(the one i never knew)
but with fingers interlaced
we can still see the true beauty of God.

Purple

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

my fingers will be purple
the hills
roller-coaster-like
will come to an end
the breath escaping
in shadowy wisps
of early morning
will see the darkness fall
the sun rise
and this ride
will bring me
to one hundred twenty-five
in five days flat

i will remember
the cold
the stopping
the book ending
the music beginning
the day i won’t even miss
the frenectomy
the playground
the friend’s new baby
three girls vacuuming
sweeping
wiping glass

but the memory
will be in the purple skin
the fingers that made it
not the tight thighs
not the spinning tires
the fingers that made it through the cold
into the day
that begins like no other day.

Pain to Peace

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

i step inside to tears
worthy of sudden death,
three red-eyed girls
limp with want,
unable to spill the tale.

my heart jumps into my veins.
“where’s Daddy?” i pop out.
“what’s wrong?”
but tears and moans
fill the gaping holes
of longing.

their pain is my panic.
i pull them into my arms,
sing them songs,
wait for the story to sift through
the tormented version of truth
their small minds will allow.

he enters, patient but done,
his version highly revised,
worthy of publication.
with girls in arms,
books on laps,
words and pictures from pages,
hugs and kisses goodnight,
we move from pain to peace.

Sound Effects

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

in line for coffee
a new dessert tray
slides into the bakery shelf.
their hands on the glass
they oooooohhhhh
in choral exultation.
the old couple behind us
chuckle, thank us for
the sound effects,
the beauteous sounds
of three little girls,
the simple sounds
of life’s little pleasures.

Tie

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

with these books,
their warm legs,
my voice,
the frazzled day
melts away.
we forget how many times
they argued over
who sat where
what toothpaste to use
whose turn it was on the iPad
and remember
the comforting magic of
words and pictures
that tie together
everything we think
might fall apart.

Icicles

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

fog creeps in
beckoning spring
with an absent snowfall
frost on the branches
we wait
i wait
new bicycle shining
under the flash
never yet on pavement
one thousand
rooftops mimic mountains
i cannot see
he tells me by 2050
too many people will live here
to sustain life
and why am i having another child
vanilla caramel cream porter
mixed with dates that match up exactly
eleven
twenty-two
eighty-nine years
my grandmother enters
and leaves this life.

it is monday
only monday
the week is fresh
new like the snow
that will creep in on cats’ paws
as we sleep
and i wonder
if my girls
who met her once
will brave the cold
the cold, the cold
and bury the seed
that brought them into this world
the seed from last century
the person who they will never know
whose words ring
like icicles on snow
we wait for all night.

Me

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

i don’t want to be here.
i’m good at this.
i’ve read enough
to share stories and articles
with my co-teachers,
have taught enough
to take over their lessons on the fly,
remember her words enough
to stand at the front and teach
while simultaneously seeing students
for who they really are,
can move through classrooms
and schedules with
hauntingly smooth ease,
can grade a stack of 150
short constructed responses
before the state test is over
and still take the time
to cry a little when i see
how poor a student’s score will be

but i cannot
i cannot
take the tears out of my four-year-old’s eyes
after the rushed-morning goodbye,
the words i cannot take back,
the days
the months
the years
i cannot take back,
the me
(the mommy me)
who i fear will never be as good
as the me
who walks down these hallways.

Missed

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

what have i missed
with the words that won’t end,
what smile or giggle
did my daughters try to send?

how can i allow
your endless conversation
to suck up my night
with this awkward situation?

if he would do his work
and you would let it go
then perhaps we wouldn’t have to
fill our worry-carts with woe.

but no one here seems to care
that waiting is not enough
that sloth and slacking are rewarded
–hard work a dire rebuff.

what have i missed
with the words that never end
that haunt my insomnia
with a world i cannot mend?

February Daughters (2011)

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

Isabella

infinitesimally eight
you round out your three-day weekend
with consecutive sleepovers
endless games and dives
at Casa Bonita
and round-the-block singing
of Girl Scout songs
in your train of Brownie vests.

infinitesimally eight
i hope you will remember
this bright moment
of your youth
with these words you will
someday read.

Mythili

Mixing in with the older set
Yearning for forever-gone blankey
True to your matter-of-fact words
Heatedly demanding justice
Imaginative to no end
Loving the art that shapes your life
Inundated with the realities of school.

Riona

tears and sobs take control of you
at the mere mention of Daddy’s death
a death unknown, far-reaching
and my arms can’t console
the sensitive child
who needs to nestle
in his shoulder,
dentist-forbidden thumb in mouth,
your cries simmering down
to the ever emanating warmth
of his love for you,
his Daddy’s Girl.