poetry

Only One

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You were the Only One I chose.
My sister would call me from New York
and ask periodically.
“Only One?” she would say,
her voice apprehensive and expectant.

I knew. I always knew, even then.

Perfect. Small town,
old architecture,
friendly professors,
far away from home,
one of the few with
a major in creative writing.

How could you deceive me?
Your price tag floating down
from the clouds and stabbing me
in year one, your ridiculous parties,
your drunken frats and sisterhoods,
the teachers who were too snobbish
to help me with the simplest questions.

But I can’t say I didn’t follow you,
didn’t tuck my gumption into my pocket,
pack my bags, and head east.

It didn’t take long before I realized,
filing cards in the catalog at my
tiresome, tedious, minimum wage and hours
library job (the one that made me gag
about going into a library for years afterward),
that I wanted to be a teacher.

So even if you didn’t hand me my dream
(as you had promised in your glossy brochure),
the wind blew me west again
and my Only One stayed put,
waiting for another deception.

Thread

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my thread always pulls toward words
words that come flying out of my mouth
in frustration or anger or coldblooded truth
or words of happiness and love

they come to me in all sorts of places
when i’m speaking with people in pain
i think of the words deep in my soul
that would work to heal them (me)

on my bike with a song a sunrise a wind
i might hear the words trampling across
my mind, forming pieces of a poem that
will, hours later, meet its page.

my thread includes the snippets of speech
from my daughters, the bits and pieces
of other authors, phrases from lyrics
and emails and letters (tied together)

always, the thread pulls me toward words
(I was born with them in my mouth, caught
like blackberries, their juice pungent and sweet
at the same time, ready to drip down my chin)

Uncertainty

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You are blinded by
what you choose not to see
so blinded by it
that you will never be free

I see it inside you
waiting for its chance
to break through the
monotony of your forced dance

But you refuse to
pull back the black curtain
and shed light on
what I know is quite certain.

Let’s not argue,
but agree to disagree
because your roller coaster
is too many hills high for me.

Youth Revisited

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while we can’t take back our youth
we can relive it in our children’s eyes

that is why
as much as i hate spending my Sunday
afternoon shivering in an indoor pool
while it is windy and fifty outside,

i must take joy in the excited
thrills of three girls
who play games,
splash each other and me,
and never wipe the smiles
away from their cheeks,
telling me time and time again
how much they love me
for bringing them here.

Ten Million Shades of Green

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for less than you paid for the
plastic tarp that covers the addition
you’re attaching to your
6,000-square-foot, $10 million home,
we enjoyed the same priceless views

a sky as blue as God’s eyes
with puffy white clouds dancing
in front of distant snowcapped peaks,
the green hills and weeping willows
decorating the winding, perfectly flat path,
the ponds with cattails, the canal,
the endless crabapples dressed in
pink and white flowers for spring,
the sprouting green bushes,
your gorgeously manicured yards,
green grasses galore,
green buds of leaves popping
out on trees as tall as back east.

your green may have seven figures,
but mine has ten million shades,
strength in my calves,
a content-with-books-to-read-in-the-trailer
oldest daughter,
and priceless views
that I didn’t pay a penny for.

Release

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a pile of bricks behind my back
held with twine that tears into my palms
(blood spilling as it rips the skin,
blood pouring onto them)

i can’t release it

every now and then a brick
will fall from the pile,
forcing me to stop my forward motion,
bend over, bring it back

i can’t release it

a pile of bricks behind my back
held with twine that tears into my muscles
(ripping them apart at the seams,
ripping me apart at the seams)

i can’t release it

every now and then a brick
will fall from the pile,
forcing me to stop, to mortar it
to the wall i try to repair

i can’t rebuild it

a pile of bricks behind my back
held with twine as thin as a line of fire
(burning me up with every step,
burning them up with every step)

i will release it

Entitlement

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we are not the enemy
despite your entitled beliefs
and no matter how many times
you twist this knife in our backs
who will be here tomorrow
when yours are gone?

we will

we are not the enemy
despite your entitled beliefs
and no matter how many times
you draw your dagger-ish words
to dig into the work we do for them
(for you), who will be here tomorrow
when you are gone?

we will

We are not the enemy
despite your entitled beliefs
and no matter how many times
you pull the mask of ignorance
over your (their) eyes,
who will be here tomorrow
to pull it off, to shed the light,
when you (they) are gone?

We will!

Lovers’ Quarrel

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You and I, we have our course and miles set:
a journey plotted amidst winds and trail closures,
a day after torrential rains and their
resulting torrential (all over the path) floods

yet no journey is complete without a moment
of hesitation, of paths lost, of alternate routes

we travel the way I remember (years ago,
a different bike carried me to work this way)
but the path is twisted, filled with tree roots
and curves that you’ve told me you dislike.

at our usual high-speed pace (we made a pact
to beat our record), the sidewalk jumps up and grabs
us. like disconsolate lovers, we tumble to the ground,
rolling over each other’s metal, skin, plastic, blood.

i lie for perhaps five minutes, adjusting my headphones
so not to miss my story, thinking perhaps my leg is broken

there could be phone calls to make and i’ll need a new
helmet, but when i stand, i grin at my bruised-up,
perfectly movable leg, and gasp at you tangled beside
me, my partner in this determined destiny we’ve set.

when i lift you and turn the wheel, you too have suffered
scrapes in our lovers’ quarrel. i adjust your chain, wiping
my greasy fingers on our towel, swipe the broken pieces of
the cateye to the ground, and we are off once again.

“that was only mile three,” I whisper, and your unscathed
silver frame, your perfectly intact black tires, lead me
into the wind, the pain of our bruises washed away with
spring’s air, water from the overflowing creek, and love.

Rainbow (Ode to Amazing Race)

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this could be a rainbow
if we ever saw the sun
bright colors all in a row
trying to protect everyone

this could be a rainbow
but we’ll just let it rain
and now here comes the snow!
is it winter all over again?

this could be a rainbow
and we’re laughing like it is
we’re crazy, yes we know
just for a small taste of showbiz

this could be a rainbow
if we measured it by smiles
but we’ll just let it flow
as we walk along our aisles

today we’ve made a rainbow
that shines beneath the clouds
umbrellas and tarps bestow
colorful hope amidst the crowds.

Magma

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i don’t want to be this parent
but sometimes the anger boils up
and overflows, spewing ash
that blocks my love for you

it’s still there (the love), hot
magma in the depths of my
hollowed out mountain, but
it’s a slow and heavy river.

you are asleep by the time
the ash settles, gray streaks
of its tiny particles on your cheeks,
and i will not wake you.

the clouds are slow and heavy at dawn,
mimicking my magma as you wake
and i take you into the hollow,
wrapping you in the warmth of my love.