winter rollerblades
spray-bottle paths formed by girls
with no snow in sight
a sunny walk home
January thaws… nothing
worried hidden joy
oh but their smiles!
the earth is dying, but them?
they’re just having fun
i skate after them
till the sun escapes the day
tuck sorrow to bed
we all have our paths
formed by small hands and big hearts
climate changes us
wind and commitment
to ski, to time i don’t have
(nor money… either)
grumpy beginnings
end with every ten feet stops
and i want to quit
but then i’m alone
and make this my mountain home
if only a day
their end-of-day grins
make me rethink my lost time
lost heart, yes… now won
Modeled after “Stopping in the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost
Whose house this is I think I know
His wealth is in his business though
He will not see me nosing in
Or what news I’ll take when I go.
My little girls must think it odd
To stop here, so detached from God
Where money rules the heart’s desire,
To darkest greed he gives a nod.
They pull my wrists and ask to leave
And wonder why it is I grieve
The only other sound’s the truck
That brings his gold out to his sieve
The house is lovely, tall, and grand
But I will not lose where I stand:
With them I have the upper hand,
With them I have the upper hand.
small signs and short legs
blue sky memories of faith
some fear is slipping
but in children’s eyes:
perfect for play and joy
humanity’s rainbow
if we could all climb
to the top of the goal post
his dream would come true
not just a Marade
a gathering of lost souls
hoping for what’s right
with their eyes, see it:
the world he wanted. Here.
not a shot fired.
we’ll never be friends
i mean, she’s just too damn rich
(she’s so nice, i think)
but conversations
that end play dates in our ‘hood
put us in our place
it’s finally done!
it took so long to finish!
now the kids can play!
(unrelated: us
two basement woes, money lost
to floods and landlords)
million-dollar homes
do not need finished basements
but she won’t see that
and we’ll never talk
beyond the superficial
(it’s kept underground)
now the kids can play
1000 square feet: more space
between us and them
i won’t give in here
too early, too adamant
a long semester
they need the structure
in walls unlike those at home
where they’re free as birds
they’ll hate me for it
but learning is needed more
than a text message
but how their wrath wins
with flippant parents’ lose tongues,
lack of discipline
my daily fight ends
with bickering daughters, cries,
skipping yoga class
table talk of love
afterward: apologies,
coloring, and peace
i will give in here
love lies deeper, lasts longer
flies free as a bird
red-letter day starts
with no meetings, extra plan
and ends with yoga
all baskets empty
week of copies, lesson plans
teacher’s piece of peace
students were pleasant
chess-club-induced quiet house
recharges my soul
soon they’ll bombard me
with high-strung voices of youth
different piece of peace
i’ll take the pieces
fit them into life’s puzzle
each day can bring peace
before dawn, i walk
full moon of icy danger
to be there for them
classroom lit, open
first day, students new to me
i set standards high
phones, backtalk, shouting
first impression resistance
shake me to my core
after school begging
for schedule changes, fallbacks
they hate and love me
i missed my girls’ smiles
their good-morning kisses, hugs
to face this chaos?
slushy post-school walk
to their bright eyes, warm faces
lost in built-up play
then, online ranting
plagiarizing grown student
demanding grade change
why you, and not them?
the question of my moon day
please… catch me a moon
make it bright like them
shining beyond snowy morn
lighting, guiding love
new year, back to work
meetings, trainings, pointless tests
(testing our patience)
no students today
semi-empty corridors
echo their absence
new resolutions
data, observations, goals
flood the teachers’ souls
i walk my mile home
with two six packs; ignore looks
(a friend’s thank-you gift)
girls are jubilant
a day alone with daddy
bright as this sunset:
realization:
i’m halfway through motherhood
(though it never ends)
ten-year-old letter
brought me back to those first days
late-night crying babes
but ten years from now?
they’ll all be out of the house
i’ll cry, my babies
when i open it
will my heart be sad, or lost
or, at best, hopeful?
will i be relieved
to think of my youngest girl
sitting in my lap?
or devastated
because she no longer will?
oh how i love them
but i’m halfway through
they’re better skiers than me
(and everything else)
no more crying babes
just the lust for lost moments
that hurt us then, now
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