list of excuses
ribboned present presented
mail-ready, pre-sent
in the hands of god
swirling death surrounding me
don’t want to hear it
how do i work through
stress, grief, everyday mountains,
but you’re not able?
i see days through tears
gather up my girls in hugs
can’t you find your joy?
peace comes with jobs done
satisfaction of success
unwrap your conscience
two-month countdown starts
pre-holiday pay knifing
how will we survive?
just as we once did:
a chef, errand-free weekends
(stay-at-home dad’s gifts)
two sides make all coins:
heavy sacrifice, workload
frantic rat race gone
we could count pennies
or we could count our blessings
we will see what counts
start and end with work
how ungodly my Sunday
blessings everywhere
painted face friends grin
i enjoy two thirds of joy
my kids everywhere
from Iraq, Burma
Eritrea, refugees
whose faces aren’t here
i guide them with words
never as harsh as a mom
because they’ve suffered
my girls? only joy
bestowed on Americans
with rich white privilege
no way to explain
my work-fair-filled church-less day
may God bless us all
a three-foot hallway
blanket, last year’s science boards
fort made of magic
here we play cadoo
spin tales with pictures and acts
clinging to our youth
she begs to cuddle
as morning melts into noon
always my baby
we play piano
i grade, then guide her through math
later, a hike fight
sun swallows the creek
as they beg back summer swims
but leaves are gold-tipped
the baby departs
we have our own sleepover
with love, city lights
they spin spaghetti
dance beside beer cyclists
here we fall for fall
mountain riverbed
gold against blue aspen fire
drive dipped in heaven
waterfall delights
imaginative girls’ eyes
a doll’s paradise
toes dipped in ice falls
while leaves leave us dipped in gold
summer dipped in fall
after-death clean-out:
desk too big for any room
memories replayed
pictures old and new
as far back as pain will reach
childhood relived
my life: email eye
spying on my every move
wait for responses
girls spin through crying
once it was: feed me, change me
now? essay, read, bathe
single motherhood:
just one week, and not for me
(found him at nineteen)
rushed dinners, yelling
later: lawn, Where’s Waldo search
we’ll never find him
his day versus mine:
turmoil a different tune
loss and love, rebirth
how they bring me joy
after all the years and tears
how they bring me joy
baby stops mid-hill
after fifteen miles, done
she’s still my winner
i will wait for her
as we end this Labor Day
she is my last one
my beach day Denver
filled with beautiful sun girls
swimming and cycling
dreams are made this way
blue skies, wood-fired pizza, sun
and spinning tires
confluence meets park
bike path meets Vittetoe fam
we meet our happy
summer’s end flowers
and a zip line that beats Spain’s
best spent allowance
unions gave day off
for sleeping in and waffles
life’s a rented dream
i think in haikus
in between Monday cycles
that bring creeks and joy
with thousands of words
one hundred twenty letters
high schoolers shocked me
today? long boarding
last year? three mile water walk
in refugee camp
fathers left for dead
or years without their mothers
fear crossing borders
Somali warlords
Thai school beatings, civil war
their innocence lost
dreams to bring back peace
to a country they escaped
(and to pass my class)
whirlwind of worlds
sit in six columns, five rows
can i reach them all?
free education
earned with a blood-torn tear trail
worth every penny
i’ll dream in cycles
flowered spinning summer ride
and forget my stress
with golden eyelashes he sleeps
after telling the Martian story
to which only Mythili would listen
black and dark makeup-less beauty
that none of us can understand,
the one who said three months back
that she’s most like me
(all i thought of were the endlessly
imaginative doll stories, and how i hated
dolls) only to realize that
my most responsible proactive middle child
had me pegged
and how can i sum up an August Friday?
it would begin with carrying
an ever-bending begonia
through three hallways
and six sets of stairs
my endlessly flamboyant classroom colleague
holding the admin parking door open
to ask
why are women so needy?
is this why i don’t like them?
before the sun has even completely
emerged from Colorado clouds
it would end with pumpkin pie
burning up my no-a/c house
and my baby’s hands weaving
bits of crust
over her apple pie dream
as expertly as she did at age three
when Thanksgiving meant more to me
than any other holiday
in the middle, with my middle child?
school posters and schedule nightmares,
the signage of every teacher,
where i walk into that school
and every capillary in my body
is pumping blood for students
i haven’t even met
a meeting, a speech that makes me
want to hug my enemy
and wish that last year
could have been mine
ours
and the end-of-day email
blasting me
in ALL CAPS
for putting my students first
even if HE WOULDN’T
Mythili, Mythili, Mythili
who was born a writer like me
a crone before her time
whose head turned towards me on day two
how could i not know
after the
twin-in-looks-forever-defiant-Izzy
and
shy-as-a-cactus-in-December Riona
how could i not see myself in her?
the pie is in the oven
and 24 people will populate
the space between an 1864 ditch
and the playground of my youth
before i can even blink
my baby has turned 8
and we will have pie.
apple. lattice top composed
by nothing-like-me Riona.
pumpkin. requested by
my twin, Mythili.
whipped cream. to spray
in mouth of endlessly-flamboyant Isabella.
tomorrow? we will party in the park,
forget that there’s no cake.
or that schedules aren’t students.
and remember how much,
how painfully much,
we love each other.
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