family

Yes and No

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Day of no:
no bike
no hike
no long drive
no dining out
no mosquito bites
no missing cat
no naughty girls
no lakes

Day of yes:
yes, you can fish for the first time
yes, you can catch five
yes, you can take them home
yes, you can cut them up for dinner
yes, you can pour some of my beer in to cook them
yes, you can buy fresh peaches in June
yes, you can make this damn peach pie without losing it
yes, you can have an extra scoop of cherry ice cream
yes, you can climb down the bank to the creek bed
yes, you could live in Kentucky if you really, really tried

On Either Side

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On either side, dressed in
variations of gray and white fur
(one solidly shedding, the other
in soft tufts of touchability)
they rest their hindquarters against
my hips in hateful solidarity.

They may be the opposite kind,
but too similar in size, too close
in shape and movement, to face up
to the gargantuan monster who lingers
at the foot of the bed, anxious to play
chase with a new set of fluffy toys.

Whenever he puts his mind to it,
he criss-crosses the room, trotting out
of either door in expectant circles,
forcing low growls, angry hisses, and
petulant pea-sized barks that leave him
both guessing and wanting more.

Whether they’re protecting me or I’m
protecting them, the warmth of love
on either side, floppy eared on the left,
twitching tail on the right, makes me
(us) feel right at home in this home
that is (not quite) our home.

No More Birds

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she chirps and coos like
a little bird and laughs
with the touch of an angel,
but when she screams and
won’t go to sleep, and fills
her diaper with a proud giggle,
i am reminded of why, while i
love her, am still happy at the
end of the day to hand her off
to mom, to tell my girls to go
to the bathroom, brush their
teeth and hair, listen to a story,
and go (without crying once in
the night) to bed.

The Vittetoe Express

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It’s June first (my mother’s birthday)
ninety degrees with a slight breeze
that makes this uphill ride tolerable,
and as I pedal along I catch sight of
our illustrious three-tiered shadow.

First me, silver helmet casting sparkles
against the cracked black pavement,
then Mythili on the tag-along, her frilly
dress flowing behind her seat like a
butterfly waiting to escape the heat,
and then the round caboose of the trailer
with Riona singing Christmas songs as I
shout, “Pedal!” when we come to the
bottom of another glorious hill.

Before we’ve even made it to the park
(the one with two playgrounds, a creek
where Elizabeth fetched the girls’ pollywogs,
a Frisbee golf course and exercise equipment),
we have turned every driver and pedestrian
with gaping rubbernecks bent in our direction, and
I have thought of a name for this silhouette of
bikes daisy-chained to one another in harmony:
The Vittetoe Express, a perfect train of thought,
a perfect train of happiness on this
perfect Kentucky summer day.

World of Words

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after the backyard pool
and sprinkler,
the iPod, iPad, and DVD,
all I ask is that you sit
and listen to a story
for six minutes.

but my competition is too
fierce for us,
and the dropping sun,
the humid air,
and my readiness for your
bed time
lead to exhausted screams
from all of us.

tomorrow we will try again
when all the electronics
and water contraptions
are tucked out of your mind,
when we have a quiet moment
to pretend that they don’t exist,
that books could draw us
together with their magical
world of words,
when we can be
mother and daughters,
not slaves to the technology
that brings these lines to you,
that simultaneously
tears us apart.

Imperfect Circle

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I saw you dressed in imperfection
Slipping out of the horizon into obscurity
Like an orange Valentine cookie
That my lover took a bite from.

Slowly, slowly you rose up from the dead
And as the Kansas sky tried to swallow you
With its hungry wind and blaring stars, you
Filled the midnight with a semicircle of light.

(a waning gibbous science teachers would say)
But to me, your missing piece made you whole
As you bathed the highway with your persistence,
Your imperfect circle guiding me all the way home.

Trail of Glory

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All it takes is one pic
Twenty minutes on their blog
And I’m sold
For ten grand we could
Buy that bike
Load up our trailer
And pedal into the
Vacation of my dreams.

You (and everyone else)
Would say we’re as crazy
As Icarus flying his chariot
Too close to the sun.

But I will always know
(we will always know)
That before the wax melted,
He burned a trail of glory
(we’ll burn a trail of glory)
That all of us can see behind us
For the remainder of our lives.

Packing List

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One downtrodden minivan
Two impatient, scratchy, whiny pets
Three cranky, anxious, bored little girls
Four filled-with-books-and-movies iPods
Five warm-for-summer-weather sleeping bags
Six BPA-free and steel hot-water-by-now bottles
Seven wheels on two bikes, a trailer, and a tag-along
Eight crammed-into-the-carryon pairs of extra summer shoes
Nine months of planning, cramming, shoving, swearing, packing
Ten priceless weeks with the cutest, newest addition to our family.

This Season

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This season I will grow time
pull it out of my sleeves
like magical Mr. Mistofelees
so when my youngest looks at me
with her shy and longing smile
and inquires, “Is today a school day for you?”
I will answer, “No,” and make it
all about her, even if I must wake
before dawn and stow the bike
and put away the computer
and forget for once what
I’m having for lunch the next day,
all so we can sit together on the couch
and cuddle with a book,
sing the songs she loves to hear
from my tone-deaf larynx,
and have all the time in the world.

Races (Raises)

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in the midst of this exhaustion-induced chaos.
i attempt to take control,
but it seeps away as the screams increase,
as the moment builds up,
tense block by tense block,
tears dripping down scream-reddened cheeks,
the clutching of toys
that refuse to be shared,
the day giving in to a night that will be
filled with frustration.

i am not one of them
even though my heart races,
my voice incalculably raises,
but you forget this.
soon we are all pouting our way to bed,
our sorrow and frustration
wrapped up with the heavy quilts
hand-sewn with the love that
should be holding us together.