you are in the audience
blinded by spotlights
unable to see or hear
the shuffling of feet
the building of sets
the sewing of costumes
the work behind
darkly hidden velvet
if you could blink
if you could block out the light
you might for one moment
see the tiny fingers
working so hard
wrapping around the rope
pulling the curtain back
for a show incomparable
to the one on stage.
how can i explain
the twisted logic
she openly verbalizes
as we sift through photos
of smoke and ash?
she will only see (one day)
perfect reflection pools,
beams of light calling to heaven,
beautiful bright buildings
standing like shadows
in place of what was lost.
she will not remember
(or pull back tears as i do),
but look into the world
with the hope that
the twisted logic of those ‘pilots’
is left behind with the rubble
they wrapped in a flag and carried home.
stacks of multicolored blocks
lacework avenues weaving
sky touching over streams of cars
thick-trunked trees lost in shadow
bleeps and beeps choking the air
incongruous shiny signs
endless lines of legs
ceiling of constellations
click and squeak of metal wheels
linguistic rainbow of voices
center of opportunity, hope
bathed in yellow light
their words fill the amphitheater
red rocks bearing down
surrounded by shadows of clouds, moon
my eyes will be sticky with tears
my heart sticky with hollow
long after every seat lies empty.
it has seeped out overnight
the words lie flat in mountain noon sun
hidden behind pale shadows
unable to fight back the bright
you say to him what i say to mine
i can feel the oozing out of veins
as the peaks disappear in the rearview mirror
skyscrapers nestling us into our nest
i will be weaker now as in those past pale moments
your secrecy lost upon me
but lighter too with the capillary release
of tiny heart drops draining to the ground
Riona
curled in lap like kitten
you nestle in near the baby
remember that you are the baby
though simultaneously
you tag along with sisters and friends
try to partake
in your almost-five world
of big kid-dom
show your cousin how to hold a book
how to slide down the big slide
how to spray the hose
how to be
the beautiful little person
you have come to be
Isabella
whisperer
you listen in to all our conversations
picking out nuances
like the brightly colored beads
you choose for your necklaces
identifying each sparkling word
for its hidden meaning
whisperer
we stand along the fence
our neighing voices lost in the wind
you dash across, wipe the sky with your voice
high pitched and hard to hear
the horses listen, gallop
at the fence line in five seconds
your hand out with carrots as
thick equine lips pluck everything
from your fearless fingers
whisperer
you lift her out once
guide her to slides
push her in swings
she is head over heels
and denies me
only allows you
to wrap your arms around her
heave her up
change her diaper
and speak in a language
the adults can’t understand
Mythili
forethought and logic
shouldn’t quite fit
with a child younger than seven
yet you stop as sisters
blow away money with the wind
saving yours for something special
still trapped inside your imagination
you tell it like it is
pointing out the necessity of native plants
the reasoning behind new sidewalks
the purpose of cold hose water in the pool
i see you now
new front teeth coming in
i see you then
new world coming in
your forethought and logic
the backbone of who you are.
i forget (as we sit here,
our hamstrings on the boat’s spine)
the colors of the day
was the sky as blue as the jays
darting in and out of trees?
were the forests a mixture of
pine and deciduous greens?
your mouth reaches mine
like the palm of a blind man
cupping my lead home
all i can see now (day washed away)
are contrasting colors of night
silver, black, gray, and white
as sharp as noon in my sight
you press against me (i reach out)
clasping the colors in my hand
your movements trapping them in memory
black unblurrable jagged mountaintops
over silver unpretentious waves of lake
sky’s gray bosom bursting with rainclouds
beneath the full serving of white moon
i forget (breaths heavy with dew)
the colors of the day, see only
carved out images in colors of the night
single women in spaghetti straps
men in khakis, collars and ties
linger in line for $3 microbrews
as we soak up the sounds of summer
girls giggle and groove at the front
forgetting for once they’re so small
beer bubbles in belly, beckons a smile
carrying kids through crowds into crescents
the ride home through Victorian
Colonial Craftsman Contemporary
bike lanes on every side street
brings a breeze of love through Lexington
lovely to love, to live, to meet.
with chunks of chicken
sticker books and melting chocolate
crinkly bags of beef jerky
mini pencils strewn like petals
crumbs in every crack
we make our way along the border
its golden sphere beckons us to stop.
we can’t go inside but see the perfect playground,
the grass soft as our new carpet,
the two-story fountain filled with children
who hear it erupt and rush
like carnivorous hawks toward fresh prey,
and i forget
(for all of ten minutes)
that i am not one of them,
but the parent
now soaked from head to toe,
dress sticking to my legs
as my three little girls
weave me in and out of spurts
in our quilt of childhood joy,
sewing up the perfect end
to a dogged day’s drive.
we are a collective force
vying against gravity
mentally physically wholeheartedly
literally
moving up a mountain
rainbow of helmets
carbon and aluminum
water bottle two-packs
and pedals
we are seventy
and seven
single
tandem
working legs
paraplegic arm miracles
everything in between
and though she and i
fit in like two chicks in a bar
outnumbered ten to one
we still outpace some
and are left in the
zipping dust down the mountain
by others
but we make it
fill out our story
a seven-month plot triangle
fast foothill rising action
steep-as-hell peak one climax
slow-and-steady peak two falling action
and the two mile flat
denouement
surrounded by screaming fans
endless cars with bike racks
cattle bells
and
victory
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