one salary

Golden Dream

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

a three thousand pound weight,
sacks of gold too heavy to lift.
if i could fill them with feathers
and build myself a pair of wings?
i would fly right into the sky
and release myself from monetary need

instead i face a financial dilemma–
drop the gold i can’t quite carry
into the gaping hole of a beast
who will swallow it whole and us too,
leaving behind nothing but wisps
lighter than feathers, unable to fly?

or hold fast to a dream that flies
into every moment of my sleeping wake,
forget the beasts that bear down on me,
and throw my sacks of gold into the sea
as i fly my way to a tomorrow that
i have waited for years to belong to me?

Hills

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

what kind of work
allows you to pack up,
swim your way through the air,
and live as an ex-pat
for two months?

i can dream, can’t i?
instead i watch
as bills pile up, as
we take our daughters’ allowance
to go for a family outing,
and i regret
the long drives,
the friendly plane ride,
and every penny that we don’t have.

i wish my pedals would work,
would bend back the money
i should be saving on gas,
the money lost on a new battery,
a dishwasher,
food for our table.

i wish
that the energy i burn
in twenty-six miles
would be enough to transfer
to everything i’ve ever wanted.

but the hills?
they are steep,
miles long,
and keep popping up.

A Sunday Afternoon

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

girls pose like little models,
even the baby smiles
underneath the bright flashes
(she’s not a baby anymore–
why must i be reminded
that five years
have slipped into oblivion?)

the clouds move in
on a Sunday afternoon,
a semi-quiet house
where they pretend to pick up
while we lie on the couch
reminiscing the twin bed
we shared so many years ago.

(with money clenched
like fists in pockets,
we borrowed furniture,
walked across ant-biting carpet,
washed dishes by hand,
roasted like oily chicken
in the absence of central air)

is it so different now,
our money spilling out
into the screens of tomorrow,
the cool air tickling our skin
as their tweeting songs
remind us of all we have seen,
all we have yet to see?

Unemployed Words

/ lovizmytrio / 2 Comments

if words could work
i could buy the right food
food to feed them
food to nurture the Earth
rather than strip her of
her natural beauty

if words would work
we could respond yes
throw our three-dollar-dinner
into the wastebasket
and forget the one week and
ten dollars left till payday

if words could cure
the tears would be smiles
and they could have
the ice cream cones of their dreams
instead of the cheap flavorless popsicles
that melt before they can get a taste
of the world with my words.

Farewell

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

Insomnia, guilt, and a conversation I had today are the inspiration for this post. Why can’t I sleep when certain thoughts creep into my brain? More importantly, why can’t I let things, people, or “friends” go?

It’s all about the brownies. If you had one day inadvertently come across this recipe as I did, you would understand. The scrumptious perfection of these brownies, modified by my specification of Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate chips and dutch process cocoa, make every morsel a delectable experience. When I first started making them, it was an occasional treat, a decadence the whole family could enjoy. But I was quick to discover that they don’t last, that from-scratch bakery items must be enjoyed to their fullest almost immediately after emerging from the oven, or all sense of richness is lost. And so I brought a few to work. The reaction was astounding, and people began to ask about them. I brought in a few more. Soon I was making weekly batches of brownies and bringing the entire 9×13 pan into work, cutting them up, bagging them individually, and setting aside corners for certain colleagues and the coveted “center cuts” for a special few.

So as I lay in bed just now, thinking about the F-bomb and my purposeful use of it under imperative circumstances when the whole FUCKING world ought to agree it is necessary, I started adding up the ingredients of my weekly brownie list. Fifteen brownies a week, four eggs, two sticks of butter, a bag of chocolate chips, one and a quarter cup of cocoa, a tablespoon of premium vanilla, one and a quarter cup of flour, two cups of sugar, one teaspoon of baking soda, fifteen sandwich baggies. What does it add up to? $10 a week, $40 a month, 10 months in a school year, $400 a year.

Now let’s talk about my coworkers, who have two incomes and car payments and student loans and childcare expenses and every other FUCKING excuse in the world to NOT have any money. And me, family of five, ONE income, NO debt (other than a mortgage), who rides my ass up thirteen miles of hills with those heavy ass brownies ON MY BICYCLE and specifically sets aside the best cuts for the BEST people, and I am spending $400 a year so that if I USE THE WORD FUCK ON FACEBOOK I GET DE-FRIENDED??

That’s it. Farewell to the fucking brownie list.

Blue Marker

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

in blue marker
print better than mine
are the ordered words
Dry eyes
Quiet voice
Follow Directions

all for the special needs boy
who wants to hold his ribbon
rather than fill out formulas

i sit with the card
in front of my lunch
saying the words to myself
in a mantra that keeps me
from telling them what i really think.

Puncture Wound

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

you are the hole in my tube,
tiny as a pin prick,
a puncture wound,
not for one second
able to hold the air
i fruitlessly pump.

your removal is tedious,
leaves road remnants
and layers of unwashable dirt
on my palms and fingertips,
takes an extra set of hands
and real strength to complete.

i haven’t the strength
to discover how you ruined my day,
only the muscles to move on,
to accept that you’re now
lying on the floor of my garage,
a haunting shadow
that tries to follow me everywhere.

Me

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

i don’t want to be here.
i’m good at this.
i’ve read enough
to share stories and articles
with my co-teachers,
have taught enough
to take over their lessons on the fly,
remember her words enough
to stand at the front and teach
while simultaneously seeing students
for who they really are,
can move through classrooms
and schedules with
hauntingly smooth ease,
can grade a stack of 150
short constructed responses
before the state test is over
and still take the time
to cry a little when i see
how poor a student’s score will be

but i cannot
i cannot
take the tears out of my four-year-old’s eyes
after the rushed-morning goodbye,
the words i cannot take back,
the days
the months
the years
i cannot take back,
the me
(the mommy me)
who i fear will never be as good
as the me
who walks down these hallways.

Whisper

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

funny how you mask yourself
for their protection
and i wear the button
proudly on my jacket,
picture-whispering
my beliefs for all to see.

when your thoughts
bubble up out of you
in an eruption of disparity
from the tight-necked clothes
you’ve kept around you,
the lava stings my view
of who i thought you were.

you wait for molten rock
to form as ash settles,
but i am trapped underneath
the red flow from your mantle,
unable to break through the crack
in the crust you chose to expose,
unable to even whisper what i see.

Tide

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

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.