giant bear brings love
in form of disgruntlement
where’s the sectional?
Bear Hug
giant bear brings love
in form of disgruntlement
where’s the sectional?
Road, River, Range
It is probably best that you dissented. That Wii and dinner preparation were more important than this Sunday afternoon ride.
We all have our releases. Yours is cutting onions and spinning tires in an imaginary resort. Mine is spinning tires in the real world, on concrete paved just for my bicycle.
I was first out of the gate, ready to win. For one hour, I was not anybody’s mother. Anybody’s teacher. Anybody’s wife. Anybody’s (even the one who lost her baby) friend. I was just a cyclist, three words to my name: “On your left!!” shouted to the tops of the peaks. Ringing out over my music. Move out of my way because there are not enough miles, not enough breaths in my lungs, not enough songs on this playlist to pedal through this pain.
Only: Road, River, Range. That is all I wanted to see. That is all I wanted to pull into my soul this Sunday. Those blue Colorado skies, the perfectly paved path, the river that feeds us all, and the mountains that divide our continent. There is nothing in this world more beautiful than sweat trickling down a back, tight thigh muscles, clicking gears, and That View. I could live my whole life in that one hour, the numbness of nightmares disappearing with each and every mile.
Forget what she said on Friday. Or the horrible news that I might carry like a burden for three weeks and she will carry for a lifetime. Forget that I came home to discover my husband’s mother rests on her death bed and my little girls can’t quite wrap their minds around anything deeper than the five-house alley-walk to their friend’s house.
Forget it all for this one breath-stealing shout-out: Road, River, Range. Placed here for me, for all of us, to tackle with this perfect body someone gave me to live on this Earth.
The three R’s. Only a different lesson.
Pick Your Battles
a day in the park
as autumn weather moves in
cold ices my veins
sisterly battles
between friendships and trees
which one should i climb?
criticism blast
before Middle Eastern meal
battle of parents
which one should i choose
the oak dropping its acorns
or drought-dying maple?
a day in the park
full battle gear, war ready
at least we can choose
Crush
You know that when a grown man has to step into the restroom to wipe away his tears, it is that bad.
There is no measurement for this. There is no set standard of tears or years. It is only you and the devastation, the loss that will forever consume your life.
And I gather up my girls. My sixth-grader grabs my hand to walk past my First Denver Apartment (age eleven–how life spins in circles) and I take her fingers between mine like it’s my first crush. Because she is my first crush. My first crush of motherhood.
I think about the time after she was born and I had nightmare after nightmare of going places with her and leaving her somewhere… In the car seat on top of the car. In the stroller at the mall. In the back seat. At school. How my mind couldn’t fully adjust to being one hundred percent responsible for myself and a Whole Other Human.
And I hate that your life for the next four months means that you won’t be coming to work. That you have his room all set in perfect Pooh beauty, and that he will not be sleeping in that crib, and you will not be sleeping at all. And that you won’t have the joy of first-mother nightmares, of eleven-year-old arguments, of nine-year-old know-it-all truths, of eight-year-old cuddlings on the couch.
I hate that you would have to endure this before even fully becoming a mother.
Because you were a mother the moment he was inside of you, and your mindset changed from teacher + wife to wife + mother. And I hate how fate has changed all of that, and that you will wallow in loss and count birthdays and wish and wish and wish until there are no more wishes to wish.
And I hate how I cannot say anything to you, because I cannot possibly begin to understand the loss. The recovery. The absence of recovery. The first-mother crush that is crushed…
I hate that you won’t have first-child nightmares. Or that you will, only… they will be so much worse than anything I can imagine. I hate that you have this on your plate to face for the rest of your life. That you have Tragedy to bear for the rest of your life. Because you don’t deserve it. Because you wanted to be something so many people take for granted. Because you were meant to be a mother.
Because you were a mother. You ARE a mother. From the moment he was inside of you, you had that crush. That first-child crush.
Love is love. And it will find its way back into your life. Love lives beyond that life-changing moment. It grows inside of you just as easily as that beautiful baby boy. And it never ends. It never disappears, no matter how many birthdays pass, how many sad regrets.
Love is love. Love… is love.
Freedom from Entrapment
four parents arrive
yet you steal my night from home
but girls were all smiles
left to eat pudding
and choose a later bedtime
they thought they were free
back-to-school-night blues
twisted in a different tune
through a child’s eyes
See Ya Summer
too tired to grade
allergies ruling my life
waiting for snowflakes
Labor Day
baby stops mid-hill
after fifteen miles, done
she’s still my winner
i will wait for her
as we end this Labor Day
she is my last one
my beach day Denver
filled with beautiful sun girls
swimming and cycling
dreams are made this way
blue skies, wood-fired pizza, sun
and spinning tires
confluence meets park
bike path meets Vittetoe fam
we meet our happy
summer’s end flowers
and a zip line that beats Spain’s
best spent allowance
unions gave day off
for sleeping in and waffles
life’s a rented dream
i think in haikus
in between Monday cycles
that bring creeks and joy
Bought… and Paid For
with thousands of words
one hundred twenty letters
high schoolers shocked me
today? long boarding
last year? three mile water walk
in refugee camp
fathers left for dead
or years without their mothers
fear crossing borders
Somali warlords
Thai school beatings, civil war
their innocence lost
dreams to bring back peace
to a country they escaped
(and to pass my class)
whirlwind of worlds
sit in six columns, five rows
can i reach them all?
free education
earned with a blood-torn tear trail
worth every penny
How I Love You
late night yelling voice
sounds hollow and resentful
just like all those months
from beautiful blues
driving west this nowhere car
hate how you hate me
my world in haiku:
if sixteen years later, mad?
without you, i die
please remember peaks
and how we pique every peak
make yourself mine, Bruce
Cycling Saturday
thirty-three mile ride
sunflowers to skyscrapers
all on a bike path
if this isn’t home
to find yourself on two wheels
Denver beckons you
no pictures today
tires spin too fast to stop
memory stores love
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