i just can’t imagine
a day without words,
blinded by a burka,
unable to read,
children at my feet,
a whip near my back.
i won’t imagine it,
but instead relish
the freedom i have
to show everyone
just who i am.
poetry
Emperor Penguin
I am the empress
you the emperor
as you sit for over a month,
our young tucked
beneath your flaps of skin, fur
protected from windy storms
harsher than hell
while I waddle my way
across Antarctica,
weak from giving birth,
starved from lack of fish,
the iciness engulfing me
until I feel I can move no more.
But it is you,
it is them,
huddled together in fatherly love,
that push me forward,
reaching the sea
with its wealth of life,
bringing it back
for you, for them,
for all of us to taste
as we form a new season.
Reminder
thanks for the quick
and painful reminder
of why i never ask you for anything.
i’ll just tuck it under my sleeve
with all the others
that are crammed somewhere
in my layers of clothing
and try to use your reminder
(and its inability to keep me warm)
as a reminder
of how much more
i need to
reach out to them,
strip them free
of useless, painful notes
and wrap them in
the warmth of love
that your reminder
has tried to take from my heart.
Far-Reaching
They were thrilled and shocked
to learn that tele– means
far-reaching.
searching for a real understanding,
they argued their point.
Alas, the word wizard won
as we evaluated,
in snippets of excited
teacher-assisted talk
along our educational continuum:
television, telephone, telepathy
The light bulbs sprung up
over their heads
and they shuffled out the door,
ready for another hour
of new, far-reaching words
they would learn along the way.
Layers
I am in a hollow now
wishing it weren’t so damp
the wind beating at my branches
as i reach for warmth
instead i double up my layers
like a bear fattening for winter
making my insular depth
as welcoming as the wind will allow.
there’s time to think, to look at
the small ones surrounding me
more closely, to hear the silence that
plays behind the gales’ haunting chords.
perhaps i have chosen this place,
perhaps it has chosen me. but i
will wait until i hear more than silence.
i will wait until i hear peace in my heart.
October Daughters
Isabella
you still want to hold my hand
at the skate rink
though i know it won’t be long
before i’ll be remembering this day,
just as i now remember our first time here
when you stood in size eights
under the lights,
sashaying without moving your legs,
a two-year-old on a dancing mission,
and here you are now,
seven almost eight years old,
begging to skate with me
while we still have a moment
left of this afternoon,
this evening,
this moment of your life.
Mythili
the words of your imaginary worlds
have developed
into a complex combination
of English, Spanish,
and your own invented language.
you will still take
two toothpicks,
a doll head and a rubber band,
or, like today,
folded up pieces of cardboard,
and create stories
as intricate and imaginative as you.
but you are not the same
with your kindergarten knowledge,
your wealth of new friends,
your step out into
the world i know i can’t keep you from.
i will let you go,
but still listen
to your stories,
hoping that one day
you and I will both remember
who you were then,
who you are now.
Riona
it is year two
of you handing me apples to core,
of dumping in enough cinnamon
to fill the house with,
of squeezing lemons,
of tasting remnants of fruit.
i tell you,
Next year you’ll be in school
when I make applesauce,
and you answer,
I hope I go to my sisters’ school,
completely unaware of
the aching sadness in my voice,
of how much I will miss you here.
And I know that’s the way it
ought to be, I know it.
But knowing your innocence,
your focus on now,
is why I can’t control my ache
that grows and grows
just as I can’t control
how you grow and grow.
Axis
how can i say
exactly what’s keeping me from you
when i’m not so sure myself?
if you could see my mind
spinning on its axis
like a planet gone off course,
you might understand.
i know, i know,
i am the one with my fingertip
on the axis, i should stop it.
it is fear that keeps it spinning,
fear and frustration
and the pulling of the moon,
the moon i’m afraid i’ll never reach.
Gems and Jewels
some shop for the latest fashion
some shop for gems and jewels
i shop for the gems and jewels
of harvest,
choosing with a critical eye
only the latest, greatest styles:
heirloom potatoes
that melt in my mouth like
smooth cream,
zucchini longer than my forearm
to be chopped and diced
and catapulted into recipes,
red bell peppers to top
hand-tossed, homemade pizza,
tomatoes perfectly plump
to sauce up our lives,
peaches for pies and jams,
carrots (cheap and easy)
to fill the girls’ lunch sacks,
and apples.
apples of every variety,
their taste carrying me through the year,
their travels from the
western slope
filling my bag, basket, bushel
until i work with them
two days straight,
coring, cutting, cooking, canning,
jars of applesauce, apple butter
making the house smell
like a cinnamon dream,
lined up on the shelf:
the shiniest, most fashionable
gems and jewels
of golden red
to decorate my style.
Hover, Reach
hovering over the highway
gray clouds attempt to rain
in a swirl of condensation
they reach down toward earth.
i watch the gas gauge hover on empty
as the rain stays high
unable to bring relief
to a guzzling, thirsty world.
we make it home and i promise
not to drive this van for a week
just as everyone posts complaints
about the football game.
it is stuttered like the rain
unable to fall, unable to win,
so close to what we can see
but in our ignorance can’t reach.
Use What Fits
i drank too much
and learned that i can fit
a day’s worth of clothes
a bungee cord
a pair of gloves
an oversized computer cord
a MacBook
and a six-pack of vanilla porter
in my saddle bag
(though the bike will tip if i let go).
this is a list poem
so let me add
that with the shower
the lack of wash cloths
and the realization
that towels were in the dryer,
he and i shared a single hand towel
to dry our dripping skin,
got out the exercise ball
and had us a real ball
(punny, right? it was.)
what could i fit in a Friday?
a five a.m. bike ride
seven classes
three 200-hundred-word posts
a happy two hours
with five friends at the bar
finishing my latest novel
dinner with my family
and love with my husband.
Step Write Up 