they are a juxtaposition
placed together for effect
tall as a beanpole
short as a stump
how could they fit?
it is a juxtaposition
that we are late
always early, us
always late, them
and now they’re complaining?
we are a juxtaposition
placed together for effect
introverted tech-o,
extroverted poet,
together making every position work.
if i could be any animal,
i’d never choose
a ferocious lion,
a bravely scavenging bear,
a hawk hunting all night.
how silly
to think anyone would.
i’d be you, of course,
my always-a-baby Chihuahua
curled up on top of her owner’s cold feet,
snuggled under blankets all winter,
given scraps right from the fork,
sleeping and loving and breathing.
yes, that’s the life.
no hunting, scavenging, ferocity.
just peace, love, simplicity.
just you and me girl.
this is just to say
i have taken all the money
from our account
in order to buy wholesome food
for our children
for us
for one week
and i wish
that the government
would subsidize health
rather than
corn, soybeans, and wheat
so that perhaps
for more than a week
we could know
just what we were putting
into our mouths,
our stomachs,
our lives.
I am the empress
you the emperor
as you sit for over a month,
our young tucked
beneath your flaps of skin, fur
protected from windy storms
harsher than hell
while I waddle my way
across Antarctica,
weak from giving birth,
starved from lack of fish,
the iciness engulfing me
until I feel I can move no more.
But it is you,
it is them,
huddled together in fatherly love,
that push me forward,
reaching the sea
with its wealth of life,
bringing it back
for you, for them,
for all of us to taste
as we form a new season.
thanks for the quick
and painful reminder
of why i never ask you for anything.
i’ll just tuck it under my sleeve
with all the others
that are crammed somewhere
in my layers of clothing
and try to use your reminder
(and its inability to keep me warm)
as a reminder
of how much more
i need to
reach out to them,
strip them free
of useless, painful notes
and wrap them in
the warmth of love
that your reminder
has tried to take from my heart.
I am in a hollow now
wishing it weren’t so damp
the wind beating at my branches
as i reach for warmth
instead i double up my layers
like a bear fattening for winter
making my insular depth
as welcoming as the wind will allow.
there’s time to think, to look at
the small ones surrounding me
more closely, to hear the silence that
plays behind the gales’ haunting chords.
perhaps i have chosen this place,
perhaps it has chosen me. but i
will wait until i hear more than silence.
i will wait until i hear peace in my heart.
Isabella
you still want to hold my hand
at the skate rink
though i know it won’t be long
before i’ll be remembering this day,
just as i now remember our first time here
when you stood in size eights
under the lights,
sashaying without moving your legs,
a two-year-old on a dancing mission,
and here you are now,
seven almost eight years old,
begging to skate with me
while we still have a moment
left of this afternoon,
this evening,
this moment of your life.
Mythili
the words of your imaginary worlds
have developed
into a complex combination
of English, Spanish,
and your own invented language.
you will still take
two toothpicks,
a doll head and a rubber band,
or, like today,
folded up pieces of cardboard,
and create stories
as intricate and imaginative as you.
but you are not the same
with your kindergarten knowledge,
your wealth of new friends,
your step out into
the world i know i can’t keep you from.
i will let you go,
but still listen
to your stories,
hoping that one day
you and I will both remember
who you were then,
who you are now.
Riona
it is year two
of you handing me apples to core,
of dumping in enough cinnamon
to fill the house with,
of squeezing lemons,
of tasting remnants of fruit.
i tell you,
Next year you’ll be in school
when I make applesauce,
and you answer,
I hope I go to my sisters’ school,
completely unaware of
the aching sadness in my voice,
of how much I will miss you here.
And I know that’s the way it
ought to be, I know it.
But knowing your innocence,
your focus on now,
is why I can’t control my ache
that grows and grows
just as I can’t control
how you grow and grow.
i drank too much
and learned that i can fit
a day’s worth of clothes
a bungee cord
a pair of gloves
an oversized computer cord
a MacBook
and a six-pack of vanilla porter
in my saddle bag
(though the bike will tip if i let go).
this is a list poem
so let me add
that with the shower
the lack of wash cloths
and the realization
that towels were in the dryer,
he and i shared a single hand towel
to dry our dripping skin,
got out the exercise ball
and had us a real ball
(punny, right? it was.)
what could i fit in a Friday?
a five a.m. bike ride
seven classes
three 200-hundred-word posts
a happy two hours
with five friends at the bar
finishing my latest novel
dinner with my family
and love with my husband.
i heard what happened
in a roundabout way
as all families today,
over Internet connections
and telephone lines,
communicating the news
of those who can’t communicate.
i cringed in my mixture of pain, guilt,
of love, sorrow, my emotions
breeding from those moments
in my childhood when i sat,
holed up under my blankets
in a dark room of punishment,
wishing i could be instead
in your arms, your wet kisses
rough on my cheek, your
planned-out dinners and desserts
waiting for approval,
your I love yous ending every sentence.
instead, you have been moved
from one dark room of punishment
to another, shuffled around
like a naughty child,
no parent (child or grandchild)
able to solve the dilemma of your age.
i am one of them,
two generations down,
with young children of my own
who will never sit in a room
wishing for your warmth.
all i can do with
the electronically-presented words
still ringing in my ears,
is hole up in my room of punishment
and wish that i had called you
before they took your phone away,
wish that i had visited
before He took your mind away.
the wind tries to
dominate our day
but we pedal anyway
the wind beats up
giant clouds of dust
(to the pumpkin fest or bust)
the wind reaches out
to grab them from the air
but pumpkin launchers couldn’t care
the wind helps us
with a tailwind home
kicking up leaves wherever we roam.
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