a small spot of sun
shining through Saturday noon
lights up my weekend
Girls in the Garden
a small spot of sun
shining through Saturday noon
lights up my weekend
dreams
Leyden Life
unpacking my life
an ever-endless ordeal
that stops here. purple.
because dreams are made
from last-minute purchases
that enclose our lives
too perfect for truth
this house, this home, surrounds us
here i’ll live till death
Location:S Kearney Way,Denver,United States
My Friday Night
a red solo cup
atop a stack of boxes
life is moving on
After You Finish…
we stand scorched by sun
for a staff pic no one wants
on fragile bleachers
this after staff talk
the same pointless PowerPoint
that’s plagued our careers
after late release
of the rowdiest last class
prisoners of bells
after no planning
scheduling glitches abound
grade books that won’t load
after absent kids
gone for testing, Muslim Eid
gaping holes in class
after percussion
the endless percussion of
kids who can’t sit still
after fall won’t start
with no air conditioning
and no new pay raise
and you want to teach?
it sucks the life out of you
(but—kids blow it back)
Border Crossings
sacrifice summed up
in a hundred teens’ letters
breaks my heart each year
Announcement
published now for all:
our dream come true in a home
we’ll all find space in
Knowledge
first one we looked at
offer in my back pocket
when you know, you know
just like way back when
looking into his blue eyes
when you know, you know
some dreams take too long
too many tries, money wasted
but now i know… i know
had me at hardwood
hard-earned years, so many jobs
i hardly know you, love
but soon you’ll be ours
no renovation, like new
somehow i just knew
Anywhere but Here
with windows wide: write.
because you’ve missed my poems, love.
since yesterday’s dawn
girls in sun’s shadow
as she announces her move.
life: cycle in, out.
you know you’ve missed me
my “seven-likes” followers
’cause i didn’t write
you count me daily
amongst the regular loves
that make us a life
and i was just born.
(it was like i was just born
the day i met him)
’cause seventeen years
can’t be measured in mountains
or wildflowers
or whining children.
but in the steps we oft take
on our way back home
and in sunsets. Sun!
lighting my way across love
across city, life.
cutting down this ‘hood
into what it’s meant to be:
scraped, demolished, lost.
circular i am
because that’s how tires spin:
neverending globe
that brings us back home
wherever that home may be.
anywhere but here.
Sunny Skies Ahead
he comes home with clouds
hovering over new joy
(where we could be free)
but then i must ask:
is freedom found in money?
so hard to answer
those without know best:
lack of money’s a prison
choking month to month
those with all know best:
too much money is a trap
biting claws of greed
it was just enough
for shoes, road trips, water parks
just enough to breathe
i want that freedom–
monthly-cycle jail-cell break
so far from the clouds
If the Shoe Fits…
reality hits:
plumber, groceries, shoe shopping,
clean car, room, laundry
not a moment’s rest
to really run a household
two incomes looms big
will it be worth it?
one week i’ll be back at work
he’ll have long hours
what i did today?
dispersed between homework, school,
kids’ activities
never the down time
he’s given us all these years
(but… we can buy shoes!)
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