friendship

My Game Lost

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the third day
of the job i no longer have
(its nightmare clutching my morning).
the gossip regurgitated
from freshly painted new faces.
the perfection in concentration
resulting in my words
tossed back at me from
the digital keyword demon.
the ball that flies into the sky
never making contact with my arms.

my game lost
in an argument
a dream
a choice that burns me
with each rising ball of fire

give me a new day
a bright-starred moment
to know that
the person i have become
is more than a digitized rejection letter
flashing failure in too few words

When Dusk Settles In

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apology lost
i seek solitude in sky
bat’s wings renew me

Formula

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don’t be so surprised
that i called you out
on everything he already is.
there is a simple formula
to make the world a better place:
be more like him.

(trust me,
it’s been fifteen years
and i still haven’t mixed
the right concoction)

Road Trip Haiku #16

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her Iowa home
loving reminder of loss
warm friends i won’t see

image

I and Love and You

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I and Love and You by The Avett Brothers

a year ago
a lifetime ago
i stood on this same step
i rang this same doorbell
i retrieved these same girls

i hardly knew you
i stood awkwardly
in your living room
trying to explain my taste in music

you cringed when i said folk
(perhaps you’d cry too
the first time you
heard their song on the radio)

we’ve made music since then
sometimes heavy metal
sometimes hip hop
just a taste of alternative

but you still haven’t heard my song

i stand on your doorstep now
you won’t answer so i walk in
(it is like home to me)

i pull them out of the room
three in a row, sleepy-eyed,
begging for breakfast
(they are starving)

you open your door
sleepy-eyed too
and there are no words
there are no lyrics
that can fall to the floor
in this awkward living room stance
as i shuffle our lives out the door

You Are

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the teary eyes that mask sadness
behind a superficial smile
the gray clouds that just can’t quite
put out the wildfires
the kind gesture resulting
in an empty wallet

the me i fear
(small child filled with doubt)

June (2012) Daughters

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Riona

we walk Venice Beach
we’re offered everything
from CD ash trays,
a strip-tease picture with a dog
in a pink bikini,
and endlessly legal marijuana
(doctor on premises!)

mostly oblivious,
you trot alongside
and point to the homeless man
sitting in the lawn, complete
with office chair and
sleeping bag

i explain. you respond:
he lives outside?
in ALL that grass?
well that’s bigger than our house!

and your five-year-old wisdom
has made this beach day better.

Mythili

the conversations
in the 2000-mile backseat drive
are circular and cute

none cuter than
sisters, learning about the Gold Rush
from historical mama, declare,
We want to dig for gold in these mountains!

with your usual no-nonsense logic,
you casually reply,
You’re going to need a drill.

Isabella

for you,
a trip to California
is no more than an excuse
for a brand new story
to share with all your friends
upon your happy return

that’s my girl

Free

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it’s not pizza
it’s Beau Jo’s
and we pile on honey
drive across grid-lined neighborhoods
and pray our van won’t die
between Denver and the suburbs

the kids are free tonight
we are free tonight
though strapped down by
a mortgage
two semi-functioning vehicles
endless governmental fees
and a dream that breaks my heart
every time the sun rises

Pandora nor my Mac
will play my music loud enough
i still love them anyway
and though we go to Spain
though we put our lives on the line
to go to Spain
i will love you anyway

Fit, Fits

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i pull apart the pack-n-play–
one of my closest friend’s baby
will sleep here again tonight

it still fits him
(my girls are way outgrown)
and it still fits
in this ten by ten room

the room carpeted green
painted (nine months pregnant) white
that we built with sweat and tears
eleven years in the making

the room in our basement
now stacked with our lives–
books we cannot part from,
handmade quilts, knick-knacks,
art from my mother’s
most delicate brush and pencil,
all our family photos

he will sleep here tonight
(he still fits)
all our closets and walls are empty
(they all fit)

and i just wonder
as i see our life
in perfectly neat stacks–
how can we fit anywhere else?

Circular

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a bee stung me today
right above my ear on mile 148
my seven-year-old might
start third grade in Spain

my former colleagues
discussed my job opening
the devils of divorce
and the two-faced
behavior of administrators

this is a list poem
i had two beers
and watched my Spaniards
pack up twenty bags
for the journey i will
soon take my family on

this is the beginning of the end
and the end of the beginning
how circular life can be
when in words we cannot express
all the emotions that draw
the endless lines together