love

Waterfront Property

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at times it feels like nothing less
than a gigantic pile of work: the
seven sleeping bags, two tents,
four bags of food, two melting-quickly
coolers, dog leashes, rain flies,
camping chairs, shovel, swim bag,
toiletry bag, overnight bag… it sits in
the dirt as we lethargically carry piece
by piece and load up the two cars.

but with one last look through the
glorious green leaves out onto the
cove (waterfront property for a night),
the girls bobbing up and down in
their life jackets, Daddy with his
fishing pole, Uncle Zak dipping the
oars of the kayak into the smooth water,
i can still feel the tingle of it on my skin,
washing away the exhaustion, the work,
and bathing me in memories that will
build up a gigantic pile of love in my heart.

Southern Sweet Air

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You will never know how perfectly pink
(like the cotton candy they crave) these
wisps of fluffy clouds above me dance as
my ears are filled with only the soft sounds
of arms dipping into the warm-then-cool water.

You will never taste the freshness of
this Kentucky lake (river), with the bass
biting at his bait, with the girls bobbing
up and down like lures alongside the kayak
while the sun pretends to bring coolness as it
sets behind the flood of hardwoods.

You will never have this moment (my moment)
with my face so sweetly exposed to the
southern sweet air, my ears gushing bubbles,
my heart wishing nothing more but
right now, right now, right now, because
you haven’t given in to the heat,
stripped down to your half-naked self,
and run into the water, remembering
(forgetting) for the first time
how to breathe.

In Your Eyes I See Myself

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In your eyes, though they’re hazel
(not deep pools of brown like mine)
I see myself, first when they roll, then
when they lead you into naughtiness,
and as much as I scold you, I know
in my heart I am only scolding myself.

I wish I could take your hand and truly
see the world through those beautiful eyes
of yours, interpreting the truth in a way
I can no longer understand, dancing and
laughing and knowing more than you
(we) should, just so that we could get along,
just so that we can enjoy each other’s company.

In your eyes, though they’re hazel
I see the flecks of brown that come out
darker every day, my lasting mark on you,
the permanence of our colors intertwined
as you dash about, determined (just like I am)
to create your (our) own destiny, letting no one
(even a mother) stop us from getting what we want.

Writing (Riding)

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the sun is writing on my back
with an early morning marker
(yellow-orange, scented like
moist soil and ripened pollen)

and i am writing on my bike
as I take hill after sloping hill
under my tires, the curves beckoning
me to the end of the road.

there she waits, a giant sloth of
spring-muddy water creeping
toward the gulf, either side lush
with full-leafed hardwoods.

i wait for them here, moisture
writing on my back, as i relive
the momentous views, the perfect
ride that I never thought could be here.

the sun is higher now, writing across
the sky its midday mark of southern heat,
and they pop out of the car with hugs,
smiles that we will ride into the night.

Yes and No

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Day of no:
no bike
no hike
no long drive
no dining out
no mosquito bites
no missing cat
no naughty girls
no lakes

Day of yes:
yes, you can fish for the first time
yes, you can catch five
yes, you can take them home
yes, you can cut them up for dinner
yes, you can pour some of my beer in to cook them
yes, you can buy fresh peaches in June
yes, you can make this damn peach pie without losing it
yes, you can have an extra scoop of cherry ice cream
yes, you can climb down the bank to the creek bed
yes, you could live in Kentucky if you really, really tried

Hugging the White Line

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on the road she told me not to take
i hug the white line
in a race against the sunset,
not used to the countryside
with its erratic traffic,
endless cornfields dotted
with day lilies as red-orange
as the sun behind me,
hills that curve and roll into
each other like waves of
rural nonchalance, and its
dangerous lack of streetlights.

with tunes popped in and
the golden glow of a busy day’s end
pushing me home, i beat
my average speed, sweat
dripping down me with as many
torrents as the rainfall that
left me drenched yesterday,
and I come into town, settle the
bike into place on the porch,
grinning at the silence of the
usually-loud streetlight across
the street, still dark in these last
few moments of light, basking in
these last few moments of the race I’ve won.

On Either Side

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On either side, dressed in
variations of gray and white fur
(one solidly shedding, the other
in soft tufts of touchability)
they rest their hindquarters against
my hips in hateful solidarity.

They may be the opposite kind,
but too similar in size, too close
in shape and movement, to face up
to the gargantuan monster who lingers
at the foot of the bed, anxious to play
chase with a new set of fluffy toys.

Whenever he puts his mind to it,
he criss-crosses the room, trotting out
of either door in expectant circles,
forcing low growls, angry hisses, and
petulant pea-sized barks that leave him
both guessing and wanting more.

Whether they’re protecting me or I’m
protecting them, the warmth of love
on either side, floppy eared on the left,
twitching tail on the right, makes me
(us) feel right at home in this home
that is (not quite) our home.

No More Birds

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she chirps and coos like
a little bird and laughs
with the touch of an angel,
but when she screams and
won’t go to sleep, and fills
her diaper with a proud giggle,
i am reminded of why, while i
love her, am still happy at the
end of the day to hand her off
to mom, to tell my girls to go
to the bathroom, brush their
teeth and hair, listen to a story,
and go (without crying once in
the night) to bed.

The Vittetoe Express

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It’s June first (my mother’s birthday)
ninety degrees with a slight breeze
that makes this uphill ride tolerable,
and as I pedal along I catch sight of
our illustrious three-tiered shadow.

First me, silver helmet casting sparkles
against the cracked black pavement,
then Mythili on the tag-along, her frilly
dress flowing behind her seat like a
butterfly waiting to escape the heat,
and then the round caboose of the trailer
with Riona singing Christmas songs as I
shout, “Pedal!” when we come to the
bottom of another glorious hill.

Before we’ve even made it to the park
(the one with two playgrounds, a creek
where Elizabeth fetched the girls’ pollywogs,
a Frisbee golf course and exercise equipment),
we have turned every driver and pedestrian
with gaping rubbernecks bent in our direction, and
I have thought of a name for this silhouette of
bikes daisy-chained to one another in harmony:
The Vittetoe Express, a perfect train of thought,
a perfect train of happiness on this
perfect Kentucky summer day.

Packing List

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One downtrodden minivan
Two impatient, scratchy, whiny pets
Three cranky, anxious, bored little girls
Four filled-with-books-and-movies iPods
Five warm-for-summer-weather sleeping bags
Six BPA-free and steel hot-water-by-now bottles
Seven wheels on two bikes, a trailer, and a tag-along
Eight crammed-into-the-carryon pairs of extra summer shoes
Nine months of planning, cramming, shoving, swearing, packing
Ten priceless weeks with the cutest, newest addition to our family.