Peaks

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if i could take those peaks,
the rays of sunlight streaming,
snatch them up from my desktop pic,
from the hands that formed them

if i could have the magical hands
that shaped this imperfect world
then perhaps i could put in perspective
the shame that hovers darker than clouds,
blocks those rays from reaching my heart.

but i can’t. i’m not God, nor have the magic
that you so desire, that seeps out of her eyes
with remorse for my harsh words, her unveiling,
that sends you to bed with night two of anguish.

if i could take those peaks,
those rays of sunlight in my hands,
i would wash our sins with the elevated air,
reshape who you are in my eyes,
release the shame from both of our souls.

My Dear

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i wish i could move my fingers
across the banjo with
the flair
the spin
the genius
the beautiful British accent
the perfection
the speed

but i can’t.
i can only spin these tires
new shoes clipped in
and ride until my breath escapes me
and try to remember
what i’m good at

which isn’t much,
being the mother of
that student,
the talk-about-in-teachers’-lounge
grumble-about-apathetic-parents
wish-you-didn’t-have-in-your-class
student

at least i can pretend to sing
like Mumford & Sons
and admit
I REALLY FUCKED IT UP THIS TIME,
DIDN’T I, MY DEAR??

March (2011) Daughters

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Riona

i will not forget these moments:
your tea party picnic
Charlotte and all
plastic food eaten
and regurgitated for later.

your thrill at holding the yoke
carrying buckets of water from well
being four and a half years
full of smiles.

your dances/songs
where you spin on sticky bare feet
and intertwine your love for me
with utterances of sisterly annoyances.

your hands held defiantly high
when they try to mock you:
I AM ONLY FOUR
in beauteous indignation.

Mythili

you’ve been duped.
i couldn’t tell you
couldn’t find the words
for me taking a day off
driving you to the dentist
forcing you to sit in the chair.

you sit silent as a stone
as the laughing gas
is put like clown’s nose
into your lungs.
they say how good you are
again and again.

he cuts into your gums
and i watch as your fists clench,
but not a tear streaks down,
not a grumble or whine.

we move to the car,
plastic jewelry prizes in hand.
i buckle you in
and you shoot me the
you tricked me look.

we arrive home
to a fridge full of
pudding, jello, ice cream.
you remember you are six
(not all grown up)
and break into a jubilant smile.

Isabella

you won’t listen
but you’ll direct.
Pull the tails off like this.
I’ll hold my fingers. You count.
Find the letter M.
Twist the bottom of the toothbrush.

like a monkey you climb
onto the counter
scavenging for spoons
plates
glassware
assigning seats at the table
with the air of a hostess

i remember when
the other babies were here.
you couldn’t walk,
but you climbed right into
the patio chair
giggling like a gorilla
posing proudly
at your accomplishments,
confident then,
leader now.

Ode to Wind

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you can take my breath away
and keep me pedaling in your sway
but i’m not the kind who would give in
to a kick-the-butt, taunting wind.

you should know your metaphor
opening and closing every door
but really for me it’s just a ride
no matter how you try to skin my hide.

i will say that you tried your best
to strip me down and make me rest
but you’ve forgotten how strong i am
how rigorous i set my training program.

you’ll never know the miles i track
how hard i work to fight you back
how i tell myself that if i can beat you
that mountaintop will be mine to chew.

Sunday

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we move through Sunday
finishing written work
reading words from foreigners
disappearing into imaginary worlds.

we step into the reality
of controlled chaos,
endlessly flashing lights,
banging balls, screaming children.

birthday party aside, we slip into nature,
our shoes sliding across dirt
that tickles the wind with views
of waterfowl-filled wetlands.

this isn’t the church he grew up with
(the one i never knew)
but with fingers interlaced
we can still see the true beauty of God.

Purple

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

my fingers will be purple
the hills
roller-coaster-like
will come to an end
the breath escaping
in shadowy wisps
of early morning
will see the darkness fall
the sun rise
and this ride
will bring me
to one hundred twenty-five
in five days flat

i will remember
the cold
the stopping
the book ending
the music beginning
the day i won’t even miss
the frenectomy
the playground
the friend’s new baby
three girls vacuuming
sweeping
wiping glass

but the memory
will be in the purple skin
the fingers that made it
not the tight thighs
not the spinning tires
the fingers that made it through the cold
into the day
that begins like no other day.

Pain to Peace

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i step inside to tears
worthy of sudden death,
three red-eyed girls
limp with want,
unable to spill the tale.

my heart jumps into my veins.
“where’s Daddy?” i pop out.
“what’s wrong?”
but tears and moans
fill the gaping holes
of longing.

their pain is my panic.
i pull them into my arms,
sing them songs,
wait for the story to sift through
the tormented version of truth
their small minds will allow.

he enters, patient but done,
his version highly revised,
worthy of publication.
with girls in arms,
books on laps,
words and pictures from pages,
hugs and kisses goodnight,
we move from pain to peace.

Perspective

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

with her
my words are stunted, stuck
my smile hollow, forced
my heart racing, anxious

she can see through me
and calls me on my lack of words
when later the message arrives.

i cannot see through her
nor understand her motivation
nor can bear the thought
of who she sees through those eyes.

is it me
or an altered version of myself,
twisted, inadequate,
the one i try to hide,
the one you seem to never see?

Sparkling

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

my morning begins
delving into darkness.
just far enough to reach
every constellation,
city lights sparkling,
a gold-threaded quilt
thrown upon the plains,
shadowy hills holding
spotlighted pavement

my day ends
bathed in light.
wind whipping my tires home,
sun splashing its mockery
of rainless spring clouds,
glistening snow-capped peaks
gathering sparkling skyscrapers
in a picture frame of beauty,
sunlit pavement.

for you
the darkness dissipates,
melts into the sparkling spirit
of a new day.

Worth

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this is what i want:
for these words to be worth something.
dollar signs.
gymnastics lessons.
food for my family.
a roof, a car, a new bike.

anything but what they are:
published to all,
read by few,
as meaningless as who i am
in this place where my words
mean nothing.