you come into my mind
as i wonder about the state of our world
as i worry on empty stones
as i beseech the heavens for answers
there you are, pop!
with your generous, gentle hands,
your offerings like gold
in the hands of the needy,
your love as pure and smooth
as a newborn’s hands,
and i remember.
i remember that
what it will take are
the hands of people like you
to shape the world into
the place we want our children
to call their own.
it is her first invite
(i wish it was her last)
and we sit in awkward silence
exchanging knowing looks
we’re surrounded by excess fat
skimmed off meat
once set aside just for the rich that has
oozed into our barely-middle class neighborhood
in gluttonous globs it surrounds
even the youngest rosy cheeks,
tripping and slipping their every step
as they unwrap, unwrap, unravel.
by coming here today, we are guilty,
and though our portion size is smaller,
it sits at the edge of the heaped-to-ceiling plate,
torn to bits in minutes by a ferocious four-year-old.
we take our leftovers in six baggies home,
but they are not for the dog. they are for us,
our girls, to chew on all evening, to try and
fill the growling hole in our gut-wrenched stomachs.
autumn visited
for a few wind-chilly hours
today summer’s here.
a ride across town
with a strong daughter attached
is like a new day.
three banjos, a drum
and voices singing kids’ songs
make Sunday perfect.
bike jerseys aren’t cheap,
so it’s a good thing I’m small
and fit a child’s size.
your question is lost
but we can find an answer
if we look deeper.
these boys like their meat
as much as Isabella
ate super porridge.
Riona’s face grins
in my palm like an angel
wrapped up with love.
no one can mess with
Mythili, who already
knows all the books’ words.
Nouns:
circles and chains
sunshine and wisps
pavement and dirt
grass and trees
giggles and smiles
Adjectives:
silver and black
warm and blue
smooth and rough
prickly and shady
bubbly and bright
Verbs:
pedal and spin
blare and float
pound and push
lie and relax
laugh and scream
we could walk
but we prefer to ride
they hop in
with three pennies,
jubilant voices,
and a mission.
we arrive at the
perfectly painted plastic horse
covered in vinyl saddle
where they climb up and down
riding like pro cowgirls
when five minutes have passed
they head for the cookie aisle
where disappointment sits
plainly on the empty tray.
instead, we pack on our helmets
to continue our weekday adventure,
the wind blowing allergen-ridden dust,
remnants of summer’s sun
beating down on our backs.
i follow the oldest, who
weaves like a drunk driver
through the sidewalk,
into the street,
everywhere her heart takes her.
a giant, loud-mouthed dog
greets our arrival. we reach
with skinny arms into
the abundantly fat-with-fruit trees,
pulling down ripe green pears,
apples with red dimples.
the dog continues to carry on,
and just as i wonder if he’s here
as a warning for us to leave,
a woman’s voice calls over the fence,
“Take as many as you can.”
And we do, the tangy juice
of tiny homegrown fruits
sliding down the girls’ chins,
dripping into the pile at the bottom
of the trailer, sweetening
our end-of-summer afternoon,
sweetening our time here, now.
everything included:
the bikes,
the horse,
the absent cookie,
the fruit,
for three pennies,
jubilant children,
and a mission.
how nice
as fall closes in
that we sit here with our dinner
(one last time?)
and listen
as the wind whistles
through our getting-taller trees
and the girls dive on and off
their matching swings
and the dry air tickles
our perfect-temp skin
and we can be, just be,
the perfect family.
caked in dirt as thick as frosting,
dripping in young-blooded sweat,
hand-carved spears cutting the air,
savage screams of hungry hunters,
sparkling laughter thrown into the wind,
they emerge from the forested fort.
not once in forty-eight hours
have iPodiPadMacBookCellPhone
inundated their young blood
(nor our old blood)
and without a single complaint,
we gather them together so
caked in sticky white clouds of s’mores,
campfire-smoke-ridden clothing and skin,
hot metal spears cutting into the ash,
thrilled screams of sugar highs,
sparkling laughter thrown into the stars,
they emerge from the perfect weekend.
she hovers
a helicopter of
impatience
desire
control
while all we can do
(awkward and new)
is stand beneath her blades
our hair stinging
our faces from her wind
closer she hovers
swooping in on a military mission,
a sniper poised,
aimed,
ready.
but i am not ready.
when i feel her
bullet slide through me
and into the soul of my daughter,
i am unable to
push my hair back,
walk away from the wind,
or drown out the sound of
beating blades from my heart.
it’s the witching hour
and here, all across town,
evils have worked their way into
the darkness engulfing us.
as quiet as a kitten snuffling
against the door, she whispers
that she is sick,
that she needs help.
with ginger hands we strip
off her sodden clothes,
and i run a washcloth under
water so hot it might sting her.
up and down her small body
i wipe away the illness, then
slip the clean nightgown over
her head in one anxious movement.
the new (old) bed in the green room awaits.
she crawls in and i whisper,
Do you want me to lie here with you?
she whimpers and nods, words lost.
i ask her to move over a bit,
but before i have slid in beside her,
she has inched her body wholly
against mine, her fingers on my face.
When you were a baby, I say,
the tears already sliding down my cheeks,
we used to share this bed every night,
just you and me, girl.
he comes in, offers to replace me,
but he can see the tracks down my cheeks,
her tiny fingers on my chin,
and without another word,
leaves us in our bed of sorrow, love.
it is only five seconds
with repercussions that will
last a lifetime
my childhood haunts me
as the same stress, anger
leaps into my veins
how i want to push it back
to not have this moment
of loss, of bitter haste
soon they are all crying
the moment turns into
long o-o-o-o-o-o-o’s
all i can do is reach out
my arms, wrap them inside,
and wish time backwards.
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