writing

What I Miss

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

There are things I miss so fiercely that my heart aches. A good long, cold and isolated bike ride, breath steaming out of my lungs, coming across the deer along the fence, the perfect mountain view tinted by rays of morning sun, everything just coming into the dawn of a new day. My mornings, solitude and strength building me up for whatever I might face, knowing that I could face the world after that ride.

My recliner. Chosen by me, ridiculed for being too large, but so thick, soft, a perfect armrest I once used to nurse all my babies, it leaned back perfectly, laptop in lap, movie on screen, book in hand, the perfect piece of furniture for every situation.

My Hyundai. Not the car itself, its junky no-lights-on-interior nothing to brag about. Just the freedom it provided, piling the kids in on our latest adventure, trekking across town to the museum, the zoo, the reservoir… how I miss the ability to go anywhere, anytime, for them to share that freedom with me, to be able to explore the world without limitations of bus schedules, car rental fees, and finances.

The telephone. Being able to pick it up and call my friends, my parents, my sister, anyone, without having to worry about an eight-hour time difference, without thinking, what a fucking shitty day, I need to talk, and knowing that I can’t talk to anyone, any time, about all the things in life I need to talk about. That it really is just us, the five of us, and we have to figure out a way to be everything for each other in every moment, whether it’s my girls’ fierce insistence on me spending my last dollar on school uniforms I can’t afford because they already stand out enough, and they need to fit in, or Bruce hating his inability to communicate anything, or me running into one problem after another with the principal (what IS it with me and principals???).

Wal-mart. God, I never thought I’d say that. Wal-mart, I miss you! I know I cursed you every time I walked in, ridiculed your inability to keep items in stock, criticized your exploitation of Chinese products, your destruction of the natural environment. But I wish you were here to save me when I can’t find a decent store to buy what my girls need, to be open when I need to print out a bus ticket or make copies for lessons, to take back all my items without a receipt!! TO BE OPEN ALL THE TIME!! Even Sundays!

Microbrews. I don’t think any description needs to follow the smooth taste of a home-brewed Hefeweizen straight out of the tap from Dry Dock.

My oven!! AN oven. No homemade pizzas. No baking chicken or potatoes. No broiling steak. But above all and everything, never a chance, for a whole year, to make a single batch of brownies. I can almost feel the melted chips sticking to my tongue, the tiny crumbs at the bottom of the pan pinched between my fingers, the smell that filled the house for hours…

Again, my words, my beautiful words. Trapped here in this blog, lost to everyone here who thinks I’m just some stupid American who’s timid and speechless. Oh, how I miss my words.

(Parenthetical)

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

i don’t want a poem with pushed out words,
one that couldn’t capture the heated moment
of tears she keeps at the corners of her eyes,
a poem that pushes out unbelonging rhymes,
one that couldn’t draw a picture
of her head in my lap,
her sorrow seeping into my knees,
one that will tell me
(teacher’s note signed)
that my daughter has moved
from above average to average

i don’t want a poem
with pushed out thoughts
to taper my emotions back behind me
like my on-fire muscles during workouts,
riding up my back like a hot rope
that i will never pull tight enough

i want a poem like the songs i sing
(out of tune)
my own tears falling willingly
in the dark hours of morning
as i belt out lyrics
with the best of them,
my shaky voice
everything that is
inside and outside of me

i want a poem with well-formed words,
one that will sing to my soul,
make me remember this day
because it is like any other day
(it is unlike any other day)
i will only have it once,
and i want to grab that poem,
squeeze it in my palm,
and suck the bloody juice
until i can taste the truth
of the world found in imperfect poetry

Dreams of Spain

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i hope my words are not
lost in translation, but
instead carried on wings of gold
across the sea,
where my dreams can take flight,
my family will prosper,
and my linguistic yearning
will meld into realistic love.

Words

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i sent the words
(there were clicks–
not yours)
i spent the time
(there were chips–
dark chocolate)

you didn’t respond
you couldn’t read
the words too thick
the chips already melted

you left them there for me
and i placed new words
under the light
words they shared in your absence

it was strange
having you walk in like that
not quite sure
if you should use your own words
or listen to ours

you waited
i wrote
(i always do)
you flipped off the light
that let them see
what i had written

in your usual manner
you ad-libbed
they laughed their usual laughs
but i managed to
feel less small
knowing they shared words with me

you stood in the back
video on
asking me a favor
(the chocolate
sitting in a back room
unrequested)

i took your center cut
put it in the microwave
and melted it for a perfect sundae

you won’t say a word
you will never know
just how warm
how perfectly cold
it tasted as i took my words
and swallowed them

What If

/ lovizmytrio / 2 Comments

what if i just typed
like a speed demon of keys,
like i didn’t have to think
about the letters
beneath my fingers
or how the only one
i truly know by heart is
backspace?

what if the computer took over
and i lost control of the words,
the letters spilling out
in foreign codes
that no one could understand?

what if Joyce took over my hands
and every thought that entered my mind
for twenty four hours
could appear before me,
flooding the world with
academic nonsense?

What if i learned how to type,
to really type
everything that is important,
to delete everything that’s not,
to leave space for everything in between?

Cast Away

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my moon was awake
full and bright
casting my stress
with hands of night

the breeze came out
shunning the heat
on the swing i sat
dangling my feet

my thoughts swirled round
a storm in my head
while my pup rested gently
under covers in bed

if only the screen
could wash away fears
make the work worthwhile
and cast away tears

Unemployed Words

/ lovizmytrio / 2 Comments

if words could work
i could buy the right food
food to feed them
food to nurture the Earth
rather than strip her of
her natural beauty

if words would work
we could respond yes
throw our three-dollar-dinner
into the wastebasket
and forget the one week and
ten dollars left till payday

if words could cure
the tears would be smiles
and they could have
the ice cream cones of their dreams
instead of the cheap flavorless popsicles
that melt before they can get a taste
of the world with my words.

Come Write In

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step write up
i’ll give you a chair
the keys you’ll need
to get you there

step write up
and come write in
you’ll see the light
i’ve been promisin’

step write up
make your name known
you won’t regret
the words you’ll own

step write up
the door’s unlatched
from your brain
ideas will hatch

step write up
you’ll be all write
put down your dreams
and watch their flight.

Fitting in a Poem

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i can fit in a poem
faster than i close the novel
check my email
and suck up to Facebook

it won’t be a Frost beauty
with a perfect
tennis-netted rhyme
but it still squeezes into my day

exhaustion seeps in
as the words pop from fingertips
and i wonder why i force myself
to type when my mind is elsewhere

i think of that chiseled creature
valedictorian boy whose life was perfect
who could do no wrong
and decided life wasn’t what he wanted

i think of that selfish email
snaking its way between the lines
of yesterday’s poem
and darkening our hearts

speaking of snakes
like one curved and black
my road home rides up the hill
and asks me to pedal faster.

i can fit in a poem
between children’s bedtime
ice cream enthusiasm
and my favorite show.

but will my words still work tomorrow?

Without Your Words

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

without your words
your hippie style of teaching
your gathering in groups
your relentless rule-breaking
your freedom-comes-first
your choice-is-the-best-choice
i wouldn’t be a teacher

and yet

i am trapped under piles of
standardized tests
computerized reading programs
administrative book doctrines
absentee students, parents
and find your words difficult to read

i wish i could capture them from memory
snap up the beauty of the classroom
that my children will never know
in thirteen years of institutionalized “care,”
that i could take your vision of education,
walk it right down to Washington
and make the world the place you promised
me it was capable of being.