poetry

Half

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

if i could be half of who you are
the world would shine
an untouched wilderness of beauty
that no human could destroy

if i could be half
hearts held in hands would melt
kindness would seep through the air
like a feathery soft summer breeze

half of you
would be the full circle of the moon
lighting our way into the silver circle of dawn
the touch of newness fresh on our skin.

if i could be half of who you are
my nights would rest with seamless sleep
i would see the world for what it could be
never for what it is not.

i would be whole.

Slip

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blood working its way
into every capillary,
fingertips unable to stop
trepidatious air-tapping,
her outlandish words,
my lividity alive
as you walk in
to this simmered-down
moment of fraudulent calm

i stand without words
as you disappear
reappear
and place the thick slip
of her punishment before me

she will walk away,
saunter down the hallway,
continue on with
her outspoken life,
forgetting everything
before she swallows her lunch

but i will hear
only your whispered version
of the truth
the subtle (yet so obvious) gesture
and your strength
slipped in on carbon copied paper
that i can borrow for one day.

Four Flags

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my day is determined
by four flags
whipping a wayward wind
toward the horizon
or reluctantly at rest
like limp rags,
their staunch appearance
a reminder of resistance.

i pedal past,
search for meaning.
will they tell me how my day will be?
in order,
in darkness
they loom before me,
first at the sin shop
lined with gluttonous cars,
then two in a row
miles down the road,
spotlighted in glory
on the hilltop of wealth,
and at last at the great institution,
lit up by a just-rising sun
awaiting my timed arrival.

they tell me if i’m crazy
(yes! the wind is your enemy today!)
remind me of my strength
(you made it! half a mile to go!)
predict my future
(it’s a long road ahead!)

but
there are no words
there is no wind
i have no muscles
that can swallow
all the hidden pain
that those wind-whipped flags
endure in their threadbare stance
as they tell me the truth in
the only way my heart will hear it.

Taste

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you are
the opening and closing
of perfect flower petals
dripping with dew,
scenting the air
with honeyed moisture,
enticing the morning sun
with bursts of brilliance.

your sweet taste
lingers in my mouth
even as before-dawn wind
in its darkest journey
before the sun
tries to steal you
from my tongue.

Peaks

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if i could take those peaks,
the rays of sunlight streaming,
snatch them up from my desktop pic,
from the hands that formed them

if i could have the magical hands
that shaped this imperfect world
then perhaps i could put in perspective
the shame that hovers darker than clouds,
blocks those rays from reaching my heart.

but i can’t. i’m not God, nor have the magic
that you so desire, that seeps out of her eyes
with remorse for my harsh words, her unveiling,
that sends you to bed with night two of anguish.

if i could take those peaks,
those rays of sunlight in my hands,
i would wash our sins with the elevated air,
reshape who you are in my eyes,
release the shame from both of our souls.

Ode to Wind

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you can take my breath away
and keep me pedaling in your sway
but i’m not the kind who would give in
to a kick-the-butt, taunting wind.

you should know your metaphor
opening and closing every door
but really for me it’s just a ride
no matter how you try to skin my hide.

i will say that you tried your best
to strip me down and make me rest
but you’ve forgotten how strong i am
how rigorous i set my training program.

you’ll never know the miles i track
how hard i work to fight you back
how i tell myself that if i can beat you
that mountaintop will be mine to chew.

Pain to Peace

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i step inside to tears
worthy of sudden death,
three red-eyed girls
limp with want,
unable to spill the tale.

my heart jumps into my veins.
“where’s Daddy?” i pop out.
“what’s wrong?”
but tears and moans
fill the gaping holes
of longing.

their pain is my panic.
i pull them into my arms,
sing them songs,
wait for the story to sift through
the tormented version of truth
their small minds will allow.

he enters, patient but done,
his version highly revised,
worthy of publication.
with girls in arms,
books on laps,
words and pictures from pages,
hugs and kisses goodnight,
we move from pain to peace.

Perspective

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with her
my words are stunted, stuck
my smile hollow, forced
my heart racing, anxious

she can see through me
and calls me on my lack of words
when later the message arrives.

i cannot see through her
nor understand her motivation
nor can bear the thought
of who she sees through those eyes.

is it me
or an altered version of myself,
twisted, inadequate,
the one i try to hide,
the one you seem to never see?

Sparkling

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my morning begins
delving into darkness.
just far enough to reach
every constellation,
city lights sparkling,
a gold-threaded quilt
thrown upon the plains,
shadowy hills holding
spotlighted pavement

my day ends
bathed in light.
wind whipping my tires home,
sun splashing its mockery
of rainless spring clouds,
glistening snow-capped peaks
gathering sparkling skyscrapers
in a picture frame of beauty,
sunlit pavement.

for you
the darkness dissipates,
melts into the sparkling spirit
of a new day.

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.