the beat is in the background
subtle
wavering
but i can still hear it.
instrumentals move in
twangy
sweet
vocals pounding microphone.
lyrics flow (honey from mouth)
stretched
anticipatory
words that try to hide it.
a breath, a moment without verse
ba-dum
ba-dum
breaking through the song.
i wait for the beat to take over
penetrating
impregnable
for you to hear what i hear.
cat’s paws on glass
dented side panel
dash lights that haven’t
worked in five years
bits of wrappings
from kids’ endless
candy expenditures
taped-on headlight
zip-tied bumper
broken visor
windshield crack
of spider-ice
locks and windows
you have to open
by hand
broken cup holders
too small for any drink
radio numbers
you can no longer see.
and you dare ask
how i could layer on
thick butt pad
sports-bra undershirt
two long underwear tops
one long underwear bottom
bike capris
two pairs of socks
two sets of gloves
a bandana, hat, scarf
a helmet and headphones
a saddle bag filled with
lunch and work clothes?
oh.
you missed
the silver sliver of moon
the last star of night
the windless morn
Aurora’s pink fingertips
painting the sky
the top of the hill home
where the curving road
presented its framed picture
of the city skyline
distantly mirrored
by snow-capped fourteeners.
i understand.
you would rather be warm.
i would rather have warmth.
Isabella
infinitesimally eight
you round out your three-day weekend
with consecutive sleepovers
endless games and dives
at Casa Bonita
and round-the-block singing
of Girl Scout songs
in your train of Brownie vests.
infinitesimally eight
i hope you will remember
this bright moment
of your youth
with these words you will
someday read.
Mythili
Mixing in with the older set
Yearning for forever-gone blankey
True to your matter-of-fact words
Heatedly demanding justice
Imaginative to no end
Loving the art that shapes your life
Inundated with the realities of school.
Riona
tears and sobs take control of you
at the mere mention of Daddy’s death
a death unknown, far-reaching
and my arms can’t console
the sensitive child
who needs to nestle
in his shoulder,
dentist-forbidden thumb in mouth,
your cries simmering down
to the ever emanating warmth
of his love for you,
his Daddy’s Girl.
today could be
that night after Homecoming
lying on the floor
of her room
when you and i whispered
into the night,
our teenage angst
spilling out
like blood on the carpet,
revealing our souls,
sealing our friendship.
they play at our feet now,
interrupt our talk
with nursing needs
finding toy needs
food on the table needs,
but our mouths
spill out words
in a rush of
it’s-been-too-long
and
it’ll-never-be-long-enough.
and just as your oldest
and my youngest
find their comfortable niche
of bug-and-Tinker-Toy play,
you and i,
just like that night after Homecoming
when you moved from friend to best,
fulfill our needs
girl-like, loose,
our old and new selves
coming home
at last.
with my ear to the carpet
the cathartic words
emanated from his lips
the drumbeat heavy on my skin.
wrapped in blankets
that couldn’t keep me warm
i played the tunes
time after tenuous time.
my mother came in
stood in the kitchen
dishing up the pasta
singing right along.
she never noticed
the untouched plate
the hours on the couch
or the music that i couldn’t turn off.
i stand here now
wrapped in winter coat
that can’t keep me warm
and remember the heartbreak cold.
it’s Valentine’s Day
and decked out in red,
heart earrings in place,
ready for my Brownie tea party,
i tuck cookies into mailboxes
and begin my day.
the words on the screen
jump out at me,
ripping all the love
from this ever-loving day
straight from my heart
as i embrace the truth
of what they will miss.
my chili lunch,
my box of chocolate strawberries,
my desire
are left uneaten
as i move through the motions,
counting the minutes
until i am safe to let
everything out in
words
tears
screams
that no one will hear.
but i can’t.
it is not about me
or my mistake
or anyone’s miscommunication.
it is about what is best for them,
and before you even close the door,
i know you will listen.
we sit at the circular table,
each sharing our version
of the empty spaces
that lie before us.
and before the moment
can slip between our fingers,
you help me find the words
i didn’t know i had,
filling our empty spaces,
reminding me why i love it here,
how you listen,
how you lead,
solve problems,
dry the tears
that now creep back into
the corners of my eyes
as i write these words.
because there are no words
to truly describe
the love that is here
in this room, this school,
this place where the students come first,
where you stand tall
and step aside
in the same graceful moment.
her words flow over my shoulders
in waves of icy discomfort.
i watch your accepting faces
swallow the saltiness of
the ocean that year after year
never lets loose its high tide.
but you are swimmers
and her words won’t drown you.
you will build rafts
and zip up your wet suits,
ready for the relentlessness
of the moon-over-shoulder tide.
i wish i learned to swim like you.
when i spit back her wave of words
to him (hours later), my breath escapes me,
stolen by the tide. my arms reach
for your rafts, your suits, your warmth
that the icy waters swallow as i drown.
the complexity of her desire
lies beneath the wings,
hidden backstage
behind the set
that he has so diligently
worked years to create.
he would surely see it
if it weren’t for the glory
of the spotlight
that draws beads of sweat
upon his brow
and standing ovations
from his familial fans.
instead she waits
for the final bow,
the wilted flowers
with stage-heavy hands
to be placed inside a vase
upon the mantle,
a reminder of the beauty
they once shared.
Inspired by Scotia Nightpoetry
it’s been fourteen years
since she didn’t die,
has lost all the weight
from last year’s birthing
(shed it like washing
silt from her hair)
and rests her hopes and doubts
on the same survivor shoulders
that carried her
from innocent adolescence
to harrowed adulthood
the same survivor shoulders
that fourteen years ago
all of our tears fell down upon,
all of our hopes and doubts
couldn’t hold up
as hair fell in chunks
onto the bottom of the bath,
her youth (our youth)
disappearing as quickly
as the drain
could carry it all away.
it’s been fourteen years
since she didn’t die.
between now and then
the scars on her face, neck
have shaped her into
the woman, the mother,
the researcher of life
who carries her hopes and doubts
on the same survivor shoulders
that led her into the life
her dreams once told her she could live.
with aching muscles
i nestle into the leather couch
surrounded by strangers,
our children
piling on top of
giant silver foam blocks,
forming friendships
as quickly
as the silvery flakes falling
outside the wall
of white-framed windows.
i watch the snow slither
into the city,
the silver titanium points
of this art museum
a perfect picture frame
of the silvery cityscape of skyscrapers
standing tall against the winter.
it is all warmth here,
all smiles,
and we could stay all afternoon
or forever in my memory.
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