love

Room of Punishment

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

i heard what happened
in a roundabout way
as all families today,
over Internet connections
and telephone lines,
communicating the news
of those who can’t communicate.

i cringed in my mixture of pain, guilt,
of love, sorrow, my emotions
breeding from those moments
in my childhood when i sat,
holed up under my blankets
in a dark room of punishment,
wishing i could be instead
in your arms, your wet kisses
rough on my cheek, your
planned-out dinners and desserts
waiting for approval,
your I love yous ending every sentence.

instead, you have been moved
from one dark room of punishment
to another, shuffled around
like a naughty child,
no parent (child or grandchild)
able to solve the dilemma of your age.

i am one of them,
two generations down,
with young children of my own
who will never sit in a room
wishing for your warmth.

all i can do with
the electronically-presented words
still ringing in my ears,
is hole up in my room of punishment
and wish that i had called you
before they took your phone away,
wish that i had visited
before He took your mind away.

Dear Ball

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

You may sit,
a gluttonous ball of air
collecting dust most of the year.
but this exercise ball has bounce,
and if the district who offered you to me
knew what we’ve used you for,
they’d shake my hand for
burning the most calories
in the most creative fashion.
Thank you, ball,
for bouncing into my life.

War Paint

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

it started with innocence
plastered on little girls’ faces
like war paint,
pink, blue, ready for battle.

after a long drive,
a stop at the store,
and a mile up the mountain,
after sifting through
golden remnants of fall
and finding treasures
in sticks, under rocks,
the war paint began to smear.

dripping down into the vessels
of their wrinkle-less cheeks,
the pink, the blue, the blood
awakened them to a new reality.

(i want to take my brush,
soft as silk on their skin,
dip it back into the bucket
and paint them, my young,
until they are blinded from
the horrors of everyday war)

but it is too late. for it
dripped and seeped and slithered
into their eyesmouthporeshearts
as they sat awestruck in
the back seat my (motherly) hands
pushed them into.

as their lips wrapped themselves
around their Sausalito saltwater taffy
(blue and pink, like war paint,
a gift brought home, home)
they took in the scene, faces
in the window, knees on the seat,
all innocence wiped away.

shattered glass. hushed crowd.
distant (gapingly absent) sirens.
blue and red blinking lights.
knees on the pavement.
blood on the pavement.
bodies on the pavement.

it ended with…
a long drive,
a stop at the store,
and sticky faces and hands,
war paint, pink, blue,
faded from their first battle.

Hands

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

you come into my mind
as i wonder about the state of our world
as i worry on empty stones
as i beseech the heavens for answers

there you are, pop!
with your generous, gentle hands,
your offerings like gold
in the hands of the needy,
your love as pure and smooth
as a newborn’s hands,
and i remember.

i remember that
what it will take are
the hands of people like you
to shape the world into
the place we want our children
to call their own.

Wild Waves

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in wild waves they come
splashing me with sticky, salty skin,
throwing me into the undercurrents
of what they think is right.

i stand on the shore facing their storm,
waiting for the moon to send the tide back,
their glistening white foam
tickling my toes with bubbles and warmth.

they push and pull and topple seashells onshore,
their distant fatherly clouds pounding down,
and they lap, lap, lap the sand at my feet,
not always waiting for my command.

in wild waves they come to my beach,
and though i try to clear the sticky salt,
it seeps in, breathes through my skin,
and together we intertwine our arms and swim.

Sunday Eight

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

autumn visited
for a few wind-chilly hours
today summer’s here.

a ride across town
with a strong daughter attached
is like a new day.

three banjos, a drum
and voices singing kids’ songs
make Sunday perfect.

bike jerseys aren’t cheap,
so it’s a good thing I’m small
and fit a child’s size.

your question is lost
but we can find an answer
if we look deeper.

these boys like their meat
as much as Isabella
ate super porridge.

Riona’s face grins
in my palm like an angel
wrapped up with love.

no one can mess with
Mythili, who already
knows all the books’ words.

Beam

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

just as i step into the light
that beams beneath the night
i take your hand in mine
and reach across your spine

on the other side of the street
is where our souls will meet
she will lead the way
we will learn to play

like children we could be
the ones who are always free
they make us who we are
we search for the first star

but this is just a dream
this bright and shining beam
the truth is there are shadows
the truth is in the hollows

your steps catch up to mine
can i reach across the line?
i search for what we’ve lost
our hearts caked with frost.

Cheer

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

lights blindingly bright
beer bottles crashing in bins
standing in waves of delight
jubilant cheers, moans of chagrin

crack of the bat against leather
sand-dusted bottoms of pants
hands together, apart, together
disco’s crowd-pleasing chants

surrounded by America’s pastime
you beep me with your newsflash
and i cheer, my heart sublime
for the best home run of this bash.

Veins

/ lovizmytrio / 3 Comments

in windowless hell i sit
surrounded by computers.
technology seethes into my veins,
hard plastic pounds my ass.

keyboards and mice click
like the rodents they ought to be.
sighs and questions filter into
the stuffy dark room.

i am here but i am not here.
my mind, just like theirs,
wanders down the hallway,
out the door, into the open air.

i can picture the pedals,
the tires taking me home,
the summer heat seeping through me
like blood through my veins.

i can feel the bath-warm water
lapping around our naked skin,
his hands on my back in the soft
moments of a Kentucky summer.

in windowless hell i sit
surrounded by computers.
technology seethes into my veins,
gives me the keys to take me home.

Everything Included

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

we could walk
but we prefer to ride
they hop in
with three pennies,
jubilant voices,
and a mission.

we arrive at the
perfectly painted plastic horse
covered in vinyl saddle
where they climb up and down
riding like pro cowgirls

when five minutes have passed
they head for the cookie aisle
where disappointment sits
plainly on the empty tray.

instead, we pack on our helmets
to continue our weekday adventure,
the wind blowing allergen-ridden dust,
remnants of summer’s sun
beating down on our backs.

i follow the oldest, who
weaves like a drunk driver
through the sidewalk,
into the street,
everywhere her heart takes her.

a giant, loud-mouthed dog
greets our arrival. we reach
with skinny arms into
the abundantly fat-with-fruit trees,
pulling down ripe green pears,
apples with red dimples.

the dog continues to carry on,
and just as i wonder if he’s here
as a warning for us to leave,
a woman’s voice calls over the fence,
“Take as many as you can.”

And we do, the tangy juice
of tiny homegrown fruits
sliding down the girls’ chins,
dripping into the pile at the bottom
of the trailer, sweetening
our end-of-summer afternoon,
sweetening our time here, now.

everything included:
the bikes,
the horse,
the absent cookie,
the fruit,
for three pennies,
jubilant children,
and a mission.