how can i explain
the twisted logic
she openly verbalizes
as we sift through photos
of smoke and ash?
she will only see (one day)
perfect reflection pools,
beams of light calling to heaven,
beautiful bright buildings
standing like shadows
in place of what was lost.
she will not remember
(or pull back tears as i do),
but look into the world
with the hope that
the twisted logic of those ‘pilots’
is left behind with the rubble
they wrapped in a flag and carried home.
bathed in yellow light
their words fill the amphitheater
red rocks bearing down
surrounded by shadows of clouds, moon
my eyes will be sticky with tears
my heart sticky with hollow
long after every seat lies empty.
she’s shoeless behind me
and he carries a load
worth a thousand pounds in gold
we coast down to the beach
(four miles from door to shore)
pedal harder home in summer rain
that tickles our backs
as thunder threatens our ears
this is the Vittetoe Express
missing a link along the line
broken into bright patches of light
as three girls, two chairs, two floaties,
one giant Camelbak,
and the love of my life
carry us home
half a snake’s length
she presses against my thigh
as if it could be cold in July
one weekend away
and she whines when we leave
her Chihuahan heart upon her sleeve
ten years old
and though she still drives me crazy
she teaches love, faith, and how to be lazy!
Riona
curled in lap like kitten
you nestle in near the baby
remember that you are the baby
though simultaneously
you tag along with sisters and friends
try to partake
in your almost-five world
of big kid-dom
show your cousin how to hold a book
how to slide down the big slide
how to spray the hose
how to be
the beautiful little person
you have come to be
Isabella
whisperer
you listen in to all our conversations
picking out nuances
like the brightly colored beads
you choose for your necklaces
identifying each sparkling word
for its hidden meaning
whisperer
we stand along the fence
our neighing voices lost in the wind
you dash across, wipe the sky with your voice
high pitched and hard to hear
the horses listen, gallop
at the fence line in five seconds
your hand out with carrots as
thick equine lips pluck everything
from your fearless fingers
whisperer
you lift her out once
guide her to slides
push her in swings
she is head over heels
and denies me
only allows you
to wrap your arms around her
heave her up
change her diaper
and speak in a language
the adults can’t understand
Mythili
forethought and logic
shouldn’t quite fit
with a child younger than seven
yet you stop as sisters
blow away money with the wind
saving yours for something special
still trapped inside your imagination
you tell it like it is
pointing out the necessity of native plants
the reasoning behind new sidewalks
the purpose of cold hose water in the pool
i see you now
new front teeth coming in
i see you then
new world coming in
your forethought and logic
the backbone of who you are.
i forget (as we sit here,
our hamstrings on the boat’s spine)
the colors of the day
was the sky as blue as the jays
darting in and out of trees?
were the forests a mixture of
pine and deciduous greens?
your mouth reaches mine
like the palm of a blind man
cupping my lead home
all i can see now (day washed away)
are contrasting colors of night
silver, black, gray, and white
as sharp as noon in my sight
you press against me (i reach out)
clasping the colors in my hand
your movements trapping them in memory
black unblurrable jagged mountaintops
over silver unpretentious waves of lake
sky’s gray bosom bursting with rainclouds
beneath the full serving of white moon
i forget (breaths heavy with dew)
the colors of the day, see only
carved out images in colors of the night
single women in spaghetti straps
men in khakis, collars and ties
linger in line for $3 microbrews
as we soak up the sounds of summer
girls giggle and groove at the front
forgetting for once they’re so small
beer bubbles in belly, beckons a smile
carrying kids through crowds into crescents
the ride home through Victorian
Colonial Craftsman Contemporary
bike lanes on every side street
brings a breeze of love through Lexington
lovely to love, to live, to meet.
for you
it is the word
the life
the soul
for me
an annual cultural show
actors shifting, shouting
trying to convince me
you thank me
beg me to return
perhaps i will
but no season tickets for me
no standing ovations, bravos
for words that are lost
among the shouts, the anger,
the heavy weight of guilt
for a life i love too much.
with chunks of chicken
sticker books and melting chocolate
crinkly bags of beef jerky
mini pencils strewn like petals
crumbs in every crack
we make our way along the border
its golden sphere beckons us to stop.
we can’t go inside but see the perfect playground,
the grass soft as our new carpet,
the two-story fountain filled with children
who hear it erupt and rush
like carnivorous hawks toward fresh prey,
and i forget
(for all of ten minutes)
that i am not one of them,
but the parent
now soaked from head to toe,
dress sticking to my legs
as my three little girls
weave me in and out of spurts
in our quilt of childhood joy,
sewing up the perfect end
to a dogged day’s drive.
Kentucky heat on a
new side of the state
(one that doesn’t give in
to early sunsets)
guides us up and down
hills on a windless evening
i grin,
back on the bike
after a week,
two whirlwind drives
six states over from
the mountains
as lush vines
thick-as-elephant tree trunks
and curvacious
nonchalant
southern hills carry us home
we stop
just shy of their house,
a perfect park
(playground and all)
distant trees
gripping the edges
of a burning red circle
that strikes
my sixteen-year-old heart
still beating lovingly
all these years later
that same sun
hidden by wisps of clouds
a bright mark of beauty
on the tired world
over the spires and forests
of Oxford
now reappears,
and i have no stairs to sit on,
no lonely walk home,
no desperate inquiries
in a dorm hallway
about what was missed,
but instead
my hands on my handlebars,
him standing beside me,
my sunset shared at last.
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