amidst the chaos
of this day
(or any other)
i have missed a milestone
that even with pictures
i will never
be able to replicate
it is not the first
(nor the last).
it tears at
my heartstrings,
a reminder of
all i have lost
with everything
i have won.
i wait for the day
when what i’ve won
will fill the void
(the interminable
guilt-ridden void)
that encompasses
all i have lost.
As stated matter-of-factly
hundreds of times, this tower
(brick-not-steel, pointed
and dominant) was the tallest
building in Denver when
at age twenty-one, like the
pioneers two generations back
(two generations back from me)
my great-aunt Frances walked
through downtown (1937)
We enter it for the first time in
my life tonight, year twelve of
our young marriage. “Finally,”
you say, “something you haven’t
already done,” opening the door for me.
Did she see it? Painted crown molding
on the ceilings, intricately laid
white marble (smooth and cool
against the skin on a summer night),
architecture from a bygone era.
Would she care about the cabaret
burlesque show that emanates from
the basement stairwell? Or did she know,
with her domineering, independent shoes
that carried her here from Kansas,
that, just like the steel-concrete-glass
skyscrapers that have tried to trump this,
it still stands in a changing world,
here we stand in a changing world,
its strength (our strength) unwilling to give up
its place in the heart of the city (of love).
the music has ended
(crickets are singing now)
and there are no cicadas here
their tiny legs call out to us
in the deep of night and the
light shining on my belly?
it is like that night under the moon
white sand encircling our toes
where i walked to the water alone
you remember. how anger and
longing threw us apart, how i
imagined a trip there alone, with them.
in a perfect circle, the moon
led me along the beach, wind
whispering the truth to me
we didn’t have electricity
a bathroom or a camper,
nothing but haste and desire
i think of this now only because
of the songs you have chosen
now ended, given in to insects
i will carry them (the music of
our lives) to sleep along with my moon.
i would be lost without it.
along this suburban street,
my narrow tires sideswipe a kingfisher
hopping along the gutter
(an algae-encrusted pond
is just over the bank)
i think of you burning forests
in Kentucky, telling your baby
the names of all the songbirds,
pointing out the indigenous plants
(plucking the non-native species)
he doesn’t seem to fit in here,
pecking his way along with his
tall, built-for-fishing legs and the
beak made for water. i don’t
run him over, but i wonder
i wonder what you would
say of his presence in this arid
climate, at the same time priding
myself that i remember his species.
native? non-native? i couldn’t say.
but i think he will find his way.
you sit like a tiny blue frog
hidden in the twilight on
a lily pad surrounded by black water
almost impossible to see
but i know you’re there
hiding out, zippy tongue ready
in a moment, you will snatch
away my summer, swallowing
my girls as if they were annoying flies.
i can’t disappear from this encounter,
but only work my way closer, ready
to pry you open, releasing them, in spring.
with wind i push it to the side
take the pedals, ride and ride
it may not wash away like beer
but brings on a healthier cheer.
wish i could erase the pain
of every misaligned refrain
but by midday my bike will be
put back together in harmony.
we’ll take their little hands in ours
forgetting yesterday’s sad showers
he and i will work the wind
till at our backs it will ascend.
my legs ache from want
of the bike paths, of women on bikes,
mosquitoes and fleas now eat me alive
and i miss my mountain peaks
but
i feel i will miss this more
the gurgling babyhood smiles
the hickory-oak-taller-than-buildings forests
the relentless rivers and rains
the stick-to-the-skin heat
and everything i should hate
that i have head over heels
fallen in love with
but mostly
our family, our (second) home,
knowing the hollowness that will
sit between the hours of my days
when reality returns
and i will have to live without.
just like the novel we have
taken turns reading
your love is as cold as the snow
(falling on cedars)
perhaps not to us
but we can feel its vacuous
chill as you glance sideways
towards them
and we wait
in the hollow of the tree
for the moment when
the snow will stop
and your love will keep us warm
Mythili
you are a fish
swimming all day
a proclamation against the heat
losing all of last year’s fear
and washing it away with intrepid dives
into the pool that you proudly stand up in,
reminding me that you are
almost (but not quite)
a six-year-old mermaid
whose summer of swimming
will soon end with a splash.
Isabella
at your sisters’ request
they have segregated themselves
into the far back.
most oldest daughters would love a chance
just one
to be alone
but your lip pouts its way down the interstate.
i sit beside you and flip out two auto bingo boards.
within five minutes you have won,
within fifty miles your board is almost full,
within three hours we’ve gone through
every Extreme Nature card
and your only request
is that the ride will never end.
Riona
you are an echo of your sisters’ enthusiasm
the squeals of delight
tagging just seconds behind theirs
as we pull into the hotel parking lot
you shout, “They have a fancy fountain!”
only a nanosecond after Isabella.
this i could remember most
as it happens daily.
but what will make me most proud
will be the fourteen flights of stairs
that you climbed up
one foot on one step, another on the next
(remember when you were almost two
and couldn’t even stand?)
not one time, but two in a ten-hour day,
my soon-to-be-four-year-old
advancing to the top
of a milestone I will never forget.
Frost haunts me with the words
I first heard in eighth grade and now
We’re passing Arnold and way leads onto way
And Isabella’s desperate question
Will we ever be back?
Makes me want to wrench the steering wheel
From his palms and take one last look from the top
Oh how the river would shine!
But we are headed south, sun at our side
Behind the non-native Kentuckian
Our prime parking place abandoned
With the three free beers
And it will have to be good enough
Our archless trip disappearing
As we enter interstate oblivion.
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