on Saturdays we cut out grass
and bend bits of metal
and win medals in Tae Kwon Do
and watch weird episodes of a modern drama
while the oldest babysits
and oh how our life has changed
from changing diapers to ours changing diapers
and we go to bed hours after
the joy of slipping off clothes
to slide into fleece pajamas
with kittens in our laps
and just love love love
that we. can. relax.
i can’t believe our world this week–
surrounded by the same chauvinistic bullshit
my liberal baby-boomer parents raised me up against.
and it’s 2016 and i have three daughters and a man, a husband,
a born-and-bred Southern Baptist-raised Tennesseean, whose thoughts couldn’t enter the realm of filth so flippantly tossed
into the national spectrum
and we have a First Lady
who should be our Queen
whose words get twisted on my newsfeed within twenty-four hours
by. A. White. Man.
and i want to grab the world by its ears and shake some sense into it and put him in a swimming pool at age thirteen and have a hand slide up into his swimsuit.
and put him on a bicycle at age fourteen and on the middle of a spring day have a creeper follow him home and chase him into an alley and expose himself to him.
and i want to put him in the college library at age sixteen and have a stalker creep up behind him trying to reach up his shorts when he’s just searching for a poem by William Blake.
And I want him to go fuck himself and his white male privilege that I have never seen in my home–the home of my birth or my marriage–even in all its whiteness
And I want him to feel that terror of being female. Because every woman I know has had icy blood running through her veins in those moments of harassment and assault that have plagued us for all of time.
But he won’t. Trump won’t apologize and he would argue till the day runs dark, and all i can do is pray to a god i don’t believe in that my three daughters don’t face the same fate. That they will find a home as safe as mine with a man as good as my father or husband and a world better than the one we have set before them now.
Because it’s all i can do. Because i moved away in the pool and told my father about the flasher and left that library.
Because i’m writing this now and somewhere in the world eyes are reading it and taking one moment to hear that terror slip out of my veins and transform into the truth that makes me Silent. No. More.
This. This is why I teach. For three years she’s been in my class. She has gotten married. Had a baby. But she still can’t decode words. She still struggles with basic sentences. I know she has more going on in her mind than Bambara and Mali and motherhood, but I haven’t found a way to reach this girl. I haven’t been able to communicate with her in a way to help her understand. But “reliving” 1880s farm chores today, she said, “I got this. We do this in my country.” And today, today, today, she was the best at something. This. This is #whyiteach
scaling these cliff walls
feels easier than your words
of guilt and judgment
yet, rivers sparkle;
ancients thrived here, not survived
(just like you and me)
too much to take in–
the beauty of history,
of sights still unseen,
of children’s faces
as youth clings as fleetingly
as the setting sun
we are captive here
in these soft moments of light
(help me preserve them)
Numbers for our weekend: Bruce turned 39, our marriage turned 18, we hiked 25 miles, gained 4520 feet in elevation, endured 100 or more stream crossings, 4 thunderstorms, 50 fallen trees, and carried 80 pounds of food, equipment, and water. We reached our limit halfway through yesterday, but marriage is continuous–we chose the loop trail just like we chose each other 18 years ago. And we’ll keep hiking, helping each other cross streams, build shelters, cook meals, and climb mountains, till the last limit of our lives. Happy anniversary!
we strike the trail late
met by an abundant blue
(clouds can keep secrets)
lunch is disrupted
by stream-crossing detours
(till we see our fault)
then comes rain and pain
realizing we were tricked
(the trail is longer)
camp set up quickly
dinner wolfed, shoes soaked by grass
(thunder moving in)
hours in the tent
thinking, how could it, why now?
(tests of our marriage)
but the bag is warm
and we have love and shelter
(all a marriage needs)
celebrating us
with a long walk in the woods
(away from it all)
silence is golden
when resting feet at sunset
(your birthday present)
the breeze reminds me:
i drove twenty-one hours
to find this beauty
better than the beach:
that grin on your face; these views;
hard-earned sore muscles
thank you for crazy–
(the long drive, the longer walk,
another “us” year)
his hometown forest
waits for us with him in it:
the perfect campsite
night still and windless
quakeless aspen leaves above
as you make me quake
in this tragic life
whose pain touches all of us
we must find beauty
around the curved path,
falling angel-like from trees,
a blue mountain view,
the eyes of a child,
the joy of family outings–
hope that love will live
Location:S Leyden St,Denver,United States
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