Stopping by a Mansion in my Neighborhood

Modeled after “Stopping in the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

Whose house this is I think I know
His wealth is in his business though
He will not see me nosing in
Or what news I’ll take when I go.

My little girls must think it odd
To stop here, so detached from God
Where money rules the heart’s desire,
To darkest greed he gives a nod.

They pull my wrists and ask to leave
And wonder why it is I grieve
The only other sound’s the truck
That brings his gold out to his sieve

The house is lovely, tall, and grand
But I will not lose where I stand:
With them I have the upper hand,
With them I have the upper hand.

That Moment

Modeled after “The Debt” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

that moment of giving in
when you know it is a sin
you taste the sweetest nectar
though it makes you a liar

too soon the taste is sour
all because of one hour
exalting joyous moment
will always be monument

then, it washed away your pain
hidden joy was found again
now, the pain’s here forever
if you’d known… you would never.

Marade

small signs and short legs
blue sky memories of faith
some fear is slipping

but in children’s eyes:
perfect for play and joy
humanity’s rainbow

if we could all climb
to the top of the goal post
his dream would come true

not just a Marade
a gathering of lost souls
hoping for what’s right

with their eyes, see it:
the world he wanted. Here.
not a shot fired.

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Ring Tones

why do i hear bells
far-off church in my bedroom
while i try to sleep?

is it divine light
keeping me awake at night
or stress, magnified?

(i recall the bells
ringing love in Michelen–
Belgian waffle day

chocolate, Belgian beer
no words for: straight from the source
and the bell college

chiming through the square
an echo i can’t forget
haunting, pleasing me)

this isn’t Poe’s poem
oh but the bells, bells, bells, bells!!
chocolate for my soul

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Two Birds… Different Stones

i won’t give in here
too early, too adamant
a long semester

they need the structure
in walls unlike those at home
where they’re free as birds

they’ll hate me for it
but learning is needed more
than a text message

but how their wrath wins
with flippant parents’ lose tongues,
lack of discipline

my daily fight ends
with bickering daughters, cries,
skipping yoga class

table talk of love
afterward: apologies,
coloring, and peace

i will give in here
love lies deeper, lasts longer
flies free as a bird

Pieceful Peace

red-letter day starts
with no meetings, extra plan
and ends with yoga

all baskets empty
week of copies, lesson plans
teacher’s piece of peace

students were pleasant
chess-club-induced quiet house
recharges my soul

soon they’ll bombard me
with high-strung voices of youth
different piece of peace

i’ll take the pieces
fit them into life’s puzzle
each day can bring peace

Catch Me a Moon

before dawn, i walk
full moon of icy danger
to be there for them

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classroom lit, open
first day, students new to me
i set standards high

phones, backtalk, shouting
first impression resistance
shake me to my core

after school begging
for schedule changes, fallbacks
they hate and love me

i missed my girls’ smiles
their good-morning kisses, hugs
to face this chaos?

slushy post-school walk
to their bright eyes, warm faces
lost in built-up play

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then, online ranting
plagiarizing grown student
demanding grade change

why you, and not them?
the question of my moon day
please… catch me a moon

make it bright like them
shining beyond snowy morn
lighting, guiding love

Enjoy Them

new year, back to work
meetings, trainings, pointless tests
(testing our patience)

no students today
semi-empty corridors
echo their absence

new resolutions
data, observations, goals
flood the teachers’ souls

i walk my mile home
with two six packs; ignore looks
(a friend’s thank-you gift)

girls are jubilant
a day alone with daddy
bright as this sunset:

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Cry Babies

realization:
i’m halfway through motherhood
(though it never ends)

ten-year-old letter
brought me back to those first days
late-night crying babes

but ten years from now?
they’ll all be out of the house
i’ll cry, my babies

when i open it
will my heart be sad, or lost
or, at best, hopeful?

will i be relieved
to think of my youngest girl
sitting in my lap?

or devastated
because she no longer will?
oh how i love them

but i’m halfway through
they’re better skiers than me
(and everything else)

no more crying babes
just the lust for lost moments
that hurt us then, now

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Planning. To Not Plan.

what secrets are found
in twenty years of letters?
and what dreams will come?

at sixteen, desperate
first love turmoil, heart crushed
i lived for friends, love

at twenty-six, scared
new baby, husband’s lost job
i lived on blind faith

now, thirty-six,
my life begins to balance
career, family… home??

sleep in which bed, house?
on which continent–east, west?
in whose arms–mine, his?

the letter will tell
my thirty-six-year-old goals
where my heart beats now

but heartbeats have wings
my girls will be all grown up
the world will change

i hope to keep up
with the childlike soul i dreamt
as a young lovebird

while at the same time
accepting life’s challenges
and… i can’t plan them

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