daughters

Sarcasm

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

i’m so thrilled to know
that the class i dread the most
has the neediest, rudest students.

i’m so thrilled to see
that every imaginable computer problem
will happen seventh period.

i’m so thrilled to hear
how well my not-quite-eight-year-old
understands sarcasm.

i’m so thrilled to know
that you think i need to read a book about defiance
so i can begin to put her in line.

i’m so thrilled to remember
why it is that she and i were not defiant.
fear is a great facilitator of submission.

i’m so thrilled to hear
the temper tantrums and talking back
that follow me everywhere i go.

i’m so thrilled to be
in this place i cannot escape from,
in this hollow where i don’t know who i am.

let me be thrilled
about something for real:
that you will never read this
(not knowing who I really am).

Carry

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

as much as i hear what you say
i will never understand why.
how in any right mind
could five rooms full of
talking-back teenagers
ever compare
to the jubilant joy
of young children
dashing through the snow?

their voices carry
like songbirds emerged in winter,
shutting out all the
whipping wind’s hollowness.
yet,
you would rather be here,
trapped in our windowless dungeon,
feeding them the lines
you’ve spouted so many times?

i’ll take my two weeks
and carry them in my mind
on my forever vacation.
for now,
i will draw a zipper across my lips
and, for once, be polite.
after all,
this year cannot carry on,
and summer’s sun,
giggling girls,
and road trips
beckon my dreams
from your harsh reality.

December Daughters

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Miss Mythili

Miss Logical:
Daddy had to take a cold shower
because we took all the water
with our up-to-the-line bath.
Miss Tattle-Tale:
(whiny voice)Grandpa, Daddy has the binoculars
and he won’t let me have them!
Miss Manipulative:
I am not going to brush my teeth
or comb my hair until you give me Blankey.
Miss Dreamer:
Wait, star, I need to change my wish!
I actually don’t want to be
a monkey living in a tree.
Miss Imaginative:
(holding a broken piece of cilantro)
I just don’t understand why your
daughter would think it’s OK
to jump over the water like that.
Miss Mythili,
my ever-changing artistic child.

Riona

if i say no to your sister,
she stomps her feet
and demands justice.
if i say no to you,
you reluctantly leave the room,
rest your little legs on a chair,
and silently allow
the crocodile tears to flow down your cheeks.
how could i ever say no to the child
who can’t go an hour
without an I love you
or a kiss on the cheek
or a snuggle on the couch?

Isabella

in the course of a few months
of second grade,
you have learned the
kissing-marriage-baby-carriage song
and its R-rated 21st century version,
how to access the Internet
and what web sites have the best games,
how to apply lipstick
and pose like a model for pictures,
how to multiply and say
Newton’s laws of motion
in English and Spanish,
and how to grow up
too quickly right before my eyes.

Fifty-Seven

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

it takes two sisters
four hours to make
three pies
dessert for fourteen people
when we include
two of six aunts
two of seven uncles.
three platters of lasagna
and forty-two plates later
we celebrate
year fifty-seven of
my father’s life
who with two “old” legs
just rode
twenty-four miles up a mountain
and hiked three and a half
and still carries his four grandkids
wherever the
endless numbers add up to next.

Endless Arrays

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

this is what it could be like:
the drive along the curvy road,
the sleeping baby at home,
the seven of us occupying
every last seat in the van,
the mountains with their
endless array of snow,
our legs working their way
through drifts and down slopes,
the warming hut that
warms our hearts,
the children with their
endless array of happiness;
you here, the four of us together,
just as all families should be.

Christmas Come Early

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

the tears disappear
as we light the fire
and with Amaretto in my belly
and Christmas music
dancing its way across the room,
they talk us into
Christmas come early.

it is only a few hours, really,
and the daylight
would steal the mood
we have set from years past.

ten minutes later,
the few gifts are opened,
and three little girls
play dress-up,
performing their
latest dance songs
for the video camera.

this is as small and simple
as i would ever like it to be:
the Scotch pine,
the warm fire,
the relishing of items
shared by all,
the love of what is here
and what is not here
all in the same moment.

Light

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

she shines a light
that she’ll only sometimes
allow us to see.

for the most part,
she’s masked in mystery
that neither of us understands.

so when i see a ray
shine through, please do not
block its passage into the night.

i have coaxed her for years,
just as i have coaxed you. yet,
light eludes me, darkness ensues.

Christmastime Glitter

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

it could be the lights
twinkling like miniatures stars
or the people walking
hand in hand,
or the horses’ hooves
that sparkle
in Christmastime glitter

or it could be
the three little girls
in footed pajamas
covered in heavy coats,
fleecy hats, and snow boots,
drawing attention
from passersby
about our new fashion trend.

it could be the
fresh baked zucchini cake
with sprinkly cream cheese frosting,
the hot eggnog latte,
the grasshopper chocolate,
that ride down into our stomachs
on a warm sled of delectability.

whatever it is,
the lights, the girls, the food,
it is home, city, love.

November Daughters

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Mythili

Freshly six, your latest
obsessions are your new Zhu Zhu
and the Tangled doll
with hair so long
I had to braid it on day one.
Just like when you were two,
you guard your possessions
as fiercely as a new mother,
holding them close to your chest
on all adventures, theirs and yours.
A year from now, what will you love most?
Will you have abandoned these items
for the latest movie character,
or have given in to your love of books,
your soon-to-be expert knowledge of words?
As I say whenever you ask me a question
that I’m not so sure of an answer to
(my response, in your eyes, a yes),
we’ll see.

Riona

With a long line,
a tiny half circle attached,
a diagonal drawn like a
ray of light across the page,
you have written the first
letter of your name. You ask
for more, and I feed them to you.
You swallow them up and
regurgitate the connected-dot i,
the perfect o, the upside-down n,
and the little a, a circle and tail.
And just as you are not quite sure
how to make the letters just right,
I am not quite sure how I am
going to stand here and watch you grow.

Isabella

Fifty-four pounds, almost half my weight,
you still ask me to carry you.
I reach around your skinny waist
and hoist you up, your arms
flailing wildly (impossible
for you to be still, even now)
as we move into your bedroom.
A kiss good night, a button on the iPod,
and you will listen to the same song tonight,
on repeat, that has played for six months.
I imagine your wedding day,
your groom picking you up in a dance.
Will you play this song, remember its waltz?
Or will I be the only one singing,
“Cantaremos alto, cantaremos bajo,”
until my heart can go neither high nor low,
but stay as neutral as your weight in my arms allows.

Thanksgiving

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

i am better at this
just as you taught me
hand over hand
hand over arm
hand on hand
hand on arm

and now you?
calm as a summer breeze
in the midst of frigid temps
cradling them
in the layers of love
that were missing
from my childhood.

instead i’ll stand here
mashing my angst into potatoes
dicing up boiled eggs
slicing perfect candied yams
doing everything you taught me
and more.

the table is set.
the kitchen is spotless.
my children are loved.
and i should be so thankful
that i know how to do
all that i know how to do.