silent overturn
of a fragmented first day
shocked apologies
after thirteen years
of hearing broken English
poetry sounds bright
written by freshmen
whose voices i’ll discover
with this twist of fate
Catch Me a Moon
before dawn, i walk
full moon of icy danger
to be there for them
classroom lit, open
first day, students new to me
i set standards high
phones, backtalk, shouting
first impression resistance
shake me to my core
after school begging
for schedule changes, fallbacks
they hate and love me
i missed my girls’ smiles
their good-morning kisses, hugs
to face this chaos?
slushy post-school walk
to their bright eyes, warm faces
lost in built-up play
then, online ranting
plagiarizing grown student
demanding grade change
why you, and not them?
the question of my moon day
please… catch me a moon
make it bright like them
shining beyond snowy morn
lighting, guiding love
Enjoy Them
new year, back to work
meetings, trainings, pointless tests
(testing our patience)
no students today
semi-empty corridors
echo their absence
new resolutions
data, observations, goals
flood the teachers’ souls
i walk my mile home
with two six packs; ignore looks
(a friend’s thank-you gift)
girls are jubilant
a day alone with daddy
bright as this sunset:
Life. Uncorked.
you’re coming back now
the truth lies behind bottles
wish i could break them
whispers and gossip
that you aren’t ready to face
the rest of your life
how will you swallow
whatever life’s bitter taste
and carry on, safe?
i would walk with you
but i think of empty rooms
how hollow life is
without a family
don’t know if you’re better off
(but i know they are)
all the same, it kills
i worry you’ll die like him
with bottle in hand
to keep it secret
no one will reach out to help
you burden yourself
we all burden this
this fear of speaking the truth
until lies kill us
let’s not speak of death
of morose new beginnings
i wish i’d brought hope
i would uncork it
let its elixir shape you
towards a drink-free life
Cry Babies
realization:
i’m halfway through motherhood
(though it never ends)
ten-year-old letter
brought me back to those first days
late-night crying babes
but ten years from now?
they’ll all be out of the house
i’ll cry, my babies
when i open it
will my heart be sad, or lost
or, at best, hopeful?
will i be relieved
to think of my youngest girl
sitting in my lap?
or devastated
because she no longer will?
oh how i love them
but i’m halfway through
they’re better skiers than me
(and everything else)
no more crying babes
just the lust for lost moments
that hurt us then, now
Muse
art lost in snowflakes
viral once meant an illness
now it equals greed
Planning. To Not Plan.
what secrets are found
in twenty years of letters?
and what dreams will come?
at sixteen, desperate
first love turmoil, heart crushed
i lived for friends, love
at twenty-six, scared
new baby, husband’s lost job
i lived on blind faith
now, thirty-six,
my life begins to balance
career, family… home??
sleep in which bed, house?
on which continent–east, west?
in whose arms–mine, his?
the letter will tell
my thirty-six-year-old goals
where my heart beats now
but heartbeats have wings
my girls will be all grown up
the world will change
i hope to keep up
with the childlike soul i dreamt
as a young lovebird
while at the same time
accepting life’s challenges
and… i can’t plan them
Bask. Basque.
Cartagena blues
teasing me with memories
soldier guarding life
here i am, snowbound
(silent beauty winter)
biting cold, warm home
i could take this pic
right there next to that palm tree
basque in Spain sun
but i am here now
family on every corner
tongue out for snowflakes
tasted continents
on either side of the sea
and i am home now
Write of Passage
our boots squeak with snow
light as sparkling feathers
quiet city streets
middle one agrees
to traipse in winter beauty
so much like her mom
this brings me to peace
from sleepless, sorrowful nights
my words lost, then found
like our snowy prints
only seen from right behind
otherwise ignored
my most precious gift
recorded for all my life
despised by loved ones
perhaps she will walk
behind my wordy footsteps
her write to escape
for now, quiet snow
i accept what i can’t change
and keep on writing
2014 in review
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,100 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 18 trips to carry that many people.
