because i can’t say no
five weekdays i work past nine
predawn morn with my girls
motherhood
Home
It’s been six weeks. They’ve had some bitter arguments, teary-eyed, face-slapping, pinching arguments. They’ve fought over toys, bread, milk. They’ve had fleeting comments about one place, friend, family member, or taste that they miss from back home.
But they have not once said, “I wish we didn’t come.”
Instead they have filled their time with: week one–decorating their rooms with paper torn from one of the notebooks we brought, colored pencils from Wal-mart, drawing pictures of flowers, pretty little girls, rainbows, and taping them up all over the white walls. Week two–preparing for school and getting their feet ready to walk miles in a day, gushing about the beauty of the harbor, trying out different kinds of foods, commenting on all the similarities and differences between this country and theirs. Week three–adjusting to school, crying a bit, laughing a bit, bragging over short hours, casual clothes, a variety of subjects that they’ve never experienced before. Week four–perfecting their hideouts in the park, being chased after by boys and girls, loving the festival’s parade, carnival, and ginormous cotton candies. Week five–wanting only uniforms to conform, they asked for nothing else, not more money, a desire to own a car, be free, to speak better Spanish. Week six–curling in their rooms with books in the iPad, playing games with Zoobles and the cars they spent six euros on today, blowing bubbles and living in a world that is completely different from home, a world in which they are completely at home.
How I love my girls. How amazing they are, to come here, to do this with me, and never for one moment think this is not where we should be. They are my strength, my dream, my hope for wherever we go in this life.
Blinded
they move through the day
laughter of love on their lips
why can’t you see it?
July (2012) Daughters
Mythili
you start off
the 7-8-9 club
weaving in and out of rocks
your memorized lyrics giving way
to a new generation of song
Isabella
always in charge
you lead two-year-old cousins
on adventures far too grand
for any grown-up to understand
Riona
cousinly love
brings you out of your shell
all day at the beach
your words free for everyone
Lighting Up My Lake
the sun beats its way into summer
and simmers along the shore.
all i see are sparkles
brighter than diamonds
lighting up my lake,
my little girls piling
watery sand on my
abandoned-nail-polish feet,
hazy mountains in the distance
popping under bright blue sky,
my Colorado begging me to stay
but i know, i know,
their sand-castle grins
captured in my shitty lens,
that i will be home,
we will be home,
as long as we’re together
No One Notices
she is five
she is my baby
we stand in hot sun
beneath a bittersweet ending
i help her hold up her hand
and when she isn’t included
no one notices
and i feel smaller than her
when he comes up and asks
if i’m some other girl’s mother
so he can invite her (not mine)
to a birthday party?
all i can do
all i can do
is be grateful for my new
dark sunglasses to hide my tears
and the worries that rest
deep in a mother’s heart?
this is the bittersweet beginning
of a lifetime more
May (2012) Daughters
Riona
with Starburst in her pocket,
girls follow behind like
needy pups.
only one knows the destination
of the gift:
the quiet child who always watches,
who often plays by herself
and becomes the coveted pet tagalong
now she pipes up,
i know who those are for–my mama,
because she loves my mama
and my mama loves Starburst.
i would like to be that unnoticed
and that necessary.
Mythili
you’re the middle child
unaware of sisters’ quirks
living in your world
Isabella
you gave me a dose
of grumpy teenage hormones
what will we do then?
April (2012) Daughters
Riona
you speak to almost no one.
we see your shy face
hide behind your mama
as if a couple of years
were lost along your upbringing.
yet,
on stage,
your Peruvian chicken costume
in full polka-dot glory,
straw wings,
paper orange beak and all,
you are a star
as you dance front center,
the folk guitar song
giving new life
to my littlest angel.
Mythili
with focused face
looking so much
like a small adult
that i sometimes forget
you’re a child,
you create art.
a windmill in
perfect proportions
copied from a book,
the oil pastel coloring
as detailed as a
gallery painting
the Girl Scout
finger puppet
where you sit surrounded
by Daisies whose
mothers assist in every step,
you speak not a word
but work diligently
on cutting, gluing,
mastering your art.
this is your gift from God,
this is your gift to the world.
Isabella
you shine your light
wherever you go,
upon your persistent pleas
for a gecko,
a cowboy belt,
or dinner alone with mama.
you direct plays
in the backyard,
setting up obstacle courses
and circuses,
your siblings and friends
falling under your spotlight
to shine in your presence
baby sister mimics all you do,
and at first irritated,
you give in to flattery,
making a parade around the house
and reading all her favorite stories,
your brightness shining
on all you do, see, touch
A Million Times More
the emotions are so intense
when the right song is played
when my girls say the right words
i cannot fathom my life without them
they sit under green blanket
as i write this
my oldest inflecting as needed
the words she learned years ago to read
my middle girl?
the best combination
of crone and imaginative maiden
fantasy worlds mixed with logic
and the baby?
idealism at its best
all the things we’ve dreamed of
wrapped up in a five-year-old’s summary
i cannot fathom
my life
without these girls
(i’ve said it before
i’ve named a poem
i’ll say it a million times more)
March (2012) Daughters
Isabella
you pop out of bed
with a craving for peppermint tea–
it’s been a long night,
filled with the turmoil
of the ever-adamant stomach bug.
you should be sleeping,
wanting to watch mindless television.
instead you run on the treadmill,
make circles with your bike
and spend a three-hour afternoon
entertaining your friends and siblings
along every corner of the park
you may walk around the house
as cheeky as a teenager (age nine)
wearing your iPod like
an artificial limb,
but on days like this,
your boundless energy ever present,
i know just how much
you are my daughter.
Mythili
you are ferocious, tenacious
in everything you do,
whether it’s your insistence on hunger
(even soon after eating)
or your commitment
to your best friend,
sharing nicknames with her,
demanding to spend school nights
sleeping over at her house,
and loving her, fighting with her
as if she is the other sister
you never had
i know you are only seven,
but i see so much
of an adult in your
not-quite-innocent level of dedication;
i can already picture
the woman you will be
Riona
the exuberant smile
that carried you out the door
after them
has disappeared as you
plod back in,
morose expression of want
dripping from your face
you point to the scratch,
a tearless, silent cry for attention,
and i put all i have
(my ice cold beer bottle)
against the unbleeding skin.
pop! there it is again,
the exuberant smile
of the littlest angel
whose delicate pleas for love
are always so easily satisfied
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