April (2012) Daughters

Riona

you speak to almost no one.
we see your shy face
hide behind your mama
as if a couple of years
were lost along your upbringing.

yet,
on stage,
your Peruvian chicken costume
in full polka-dot glory,
straw wings,
paper orange beak and all,
you are a star
as you dance front center,
the folk guitar song
giving new life
to my littlest angel.

Mythili

with focused face
looking so much
like a small adult
that i sometimes forget
you’re a child,
you create art.

a windmill in
perfect proportions
copied from a book,
the oil pastel coloring
as detailed as a
gallery painting

the Girl Scout
finger puppet
where you sit surrounded
by Daisies whose
mothers assist in every step,
you speak not a word
but work diligently
on cutting, gluing,
mastering your art.

this is your gift from God,
this is your gift to the world.

Isabella

you shine your light
wherever you go,
upon your persistent pleas
for a gecko,
a cowboy belt,
or dinner alone with mama.

you direct plays
in the backyard,
setting up obstacle courses
and circuses,
your siblings and friends
falling under your spotlight
to shine in your presence

baby sister mimics all you do,
and at first irritated,
you give in to flattery,
making a parade around the house
and reading all her favorite stories,
your brightness shining
on all you do, see, touch

Song

you’re the favored song
buried and lost on my list
singing my sunrise

One of Those Moments

i can’t write without the wind.
i line up my alliteration
against the dustbowl afternoon,
the first time a great gale
almost forced me to the ground

it is one of those moments when
fear forces itself into my forefront
and i could forget where i’m going.
it is just me, my pedals, my perseverance,
and the dust that clings to every pore

i push on through a series of green lights
to the man i love
all the way back fifteen years, and
i tell him today (like so many other days)
of the ride i’ve had,
and in this moment
(it is one of those moments)
with the wearying wind, the look in his eyes,
i see my future lie before me

Particles of Light

you are the feathered flowers
that lie buried
in the hand-me-down plant.
i want to run my fingers
across the petals and
pluck out the frilly baby’s breath,
put my nose deep into
the scent
that carries me back ten years,
that carries me to the moment
those flowers became you
(a tile floor, shards of glass,
love hidden in particles of light)

this is the love
that is too soft
for others to touch,
the flowers that will never die
though the plant may fade
into the reality of life cycles,
you will still be as brightly beautiful
as the moment
i placed the stems
in the oh-so-fragile vase,
forgetting for a moment
how what breaks us
is what makes us

Three Birds in a Row

the light right now
as i kiss my girls goodnight?
it is unlike any other sunset,
the clouds a perfect concoction
of pink and gray,
and they hold tight to my neck
and beg me for stories of Medusa
that Silverstein told them about,
that i ad-lib with college knowledge.
i’m going to college,
they chime in,
three birds in a row,
so i can know as much as you
and they are my girls
through and through

A Million Times More

the emotions are so intense
when the right song is played
when my girls say the right words

i cannot fathom my life without them
they sit under green blanket
as i write this
my oldest inflecting as needed
the words she learned years ago to read

my middle girl?
the best combination
of crone and imaginative maiden
fantasy worlds mixed with logic

and the baby?
idealism at its best
all the things we’ve dreamed of
wrapped up in a five-year-old’s summary

i cannot fathom
my life
without these girls
(i’ve said it before
i’ve named a poem
i’ll say it a million times more)

If I Were to Make You Mine

i know you had it in you this morning,
the urge to pull me close,
to wrap me in your warmth.
i know it was there between each of us.
could i have spared more time?
could i have cut back
on the hills hovering before me?

sometimes i wonder about the miles
that lie between here and there:
how tightly knit they appear,
how curvacious and beautiful they can be

and if i were to make you mine,
would i have seen the shrinking moon,
would i have made all the green lights
that graciously gave me my record time?
would i have been the same person,
giving in to one moment over another?

these small decisions
made before dawn
are the ones that haunt us in the end

I Couldn’t Begin to Describe

she is crying again
he asks why and only i know
those are my tears on her face
i smile outwardly
it’s amazing how outwardly i smile
on nights like this?
these are the nights
when i wonder
if i will ever get over this

her request is so simple
it is five-year-old simple
please don’t go to work mama
it is all i have ever asked
and all i have ever known
all warped in the same twisted
conundrum

without him i would lose myself
(she says another story)
and i cannot commiserate
because
without
him
i
would
lose
myself

i couldn’t begin to describe
i couldn’t begin to describe
the person i met
(i was just a baby)
who i knew i would marry
i couldn’t begin to describe
the fortune sent by God himself
(he would hate that i include Him)
at age nineteen
i couldn’t begin to describe
the man i married

you would never understand
you could never understand
and just like i tell my
nine-year-old daughter
don’t marry anyone who is
not as good as him
–and what if i don’t find
someone as good as him

(God how she’s my daughter)
then don’t get married
(insert tears)
OK Mama
i couldn’t begin to describe
just
the
person
you
will
never
see

Electrified Files

outspoken as always
he asks why i smile
she loves watching us work,
his classmate chimes in
(all teachers live for torture)

he has caught me in a moment
(one of many on this first day back)
where my available memory sits
on the forefront of my monitor
(the smile will never be far
from lips that can’t hide happiness)

(i will never tell him
i will tell almost no one)
the images i tuck in electrified files
at the base of my hard drive
ready to upload
a screensaver’s pleasure
at the smiling touch of a keyboard

The Royal Arch

i can run up this hill
(it is more like a mountain)
i’ll take my years-old Adidas
and pound my way, breathless,
till i see that rock formation

sweat streams from my pores
and i snatch glances back at you
we might as well go all the way now
i point out, once we see the
.23 miles left sign at the top of the pass

you must rest, drink, and i gather in
the view of the rock-steps,
the city of my dreams,
and your sweat/cologne scent
while i wait for you

the last stretch, trail hidden
by a trickling waterfall
amongst rocks so steep we must
use the strength of our palms to pull,
is always the hardest

there it is though…
the arch that has rested above my world
for all of my life,
and without this beautiful day,
these strenuous steps,
without you, i would have missed it