i didn’t have time to write this then
so i’ll put these words on paper now
to let you know just how much
your freakish actions stir me up
to remind you that
one in 750,000
is not at all going to happen
in your lifetime or mine
so shut the fuck up
let loose your leash
and let me go to sleep.
Blue Rectangle
he holds it up proud as a parent
perfectly cut into a blue rectangle
it fits behind the glossy plastic
he grins his jolly-Jun grin
and though he drives me crazy
with his grumbling questions
and loud arguing voice
(“we can’t whisper to argue!”)
he follows me home,
makes it into the dinner conversation,
and with my words,
his actions,
has made my day.
Silver Circle
you may have taken it once
but now you slide it into my palm
like a shiny new silver coin
cold and sleek against the nerve endings
i clutch it with my fingertips,
pressing, hoping it will soak up
our bodies’ heat.
(we can pretend) that you really did
snatch that shining circle out of the sky
years back or months ago
it is ours now
i open my fingers and place it
on the rough center of my tongue
(despite my efforts, its purity
keeps it cool in my mouth)
you want a taste
and its light encircles us in the yard
crickets singing love songs
wind tickling the still-summer leaves
stars peeking out, competing for room
distant traffic reminding us where we are
(we are here, we are here, we are here!)
i give it to you
the silver circle that you know i love
that we love together
and with our lips open (our hearts open)
we pass our moon back and forth.
the cold seeps away, draining into the bed
of warmth, of love we have created here tonight.
August Daughters
Riona
there was a time not so long ago
when I worried you wouldn’t walk
contented as could be you sat happily
on your bottom, legs refusing to straighten
adorable, yes, but not for a mother.
how I ached for people to stop asking
for you to reach up, put your palms on a chair,
and stand.
you are four now. Four! and have tucked
stairs, one at a time, into your steps of experience,
have learned to chase after your sisters,
rarely even begging to hold my hand to steady you.
it wasn’t a mistake that I asked my friend to
draw, in perfect artistic beauty, your favorite pets
on a pair of (my all-time favorite shoes)
Converse Chuck Taylors for your birthday. Shoes.
for my youngest girl who is perfectly happy to dig in
to the hand-me-down box and pull out a “new” pair.
But no. Those shoes are yours, only yours, and on the
same day you put their magic on your feet,
your bottom in your brand-new non-baby swing,
digging your toes into the grass to make a dirt hole
(“just like under my sisters’ swings”)
you learned how to pump. all. by. yourself.
i will never know, Riona, I will never know
what will bring more tears to this mother’s eyes:
your first step at twenty months
or your legs in the air at four years old.
Isabella
Grandma reads a book to your sisters
(you hate reading).
you sit on the couch,
swing your legs,
jump up, jump down,
grab blocks,
knock them over,
dash into the kitchen,
pick up a set of toys,
jolt over the coffee table,
sing a song.
Grandma asks your sisters
to answer a question
about the book.
Before a split second has passed,
you’ve already slipped in
the answer.
“How can these girls say anything
with this one around?”
“It’s true,” you admit.
“I know everything.”
You pick up a set of plastic bugs
and bolt away,
my speed demon of elder knowledge.
Mythili
you are so proud to be
the five-almost-six-year-old
who takes steps into the school
every day after your sister,
backpack on back,
lunch in hand,
ready for kindergarten.
i watch your smile
as you tell stories about
the block towers you’ve built,
as you “read” every detail
of pictures in elaborate tales
much better than the actual words
written in the books you love.
all i see,
beneath the layers of
worldly knowledge you have
acquired upon entering school,
is my baby girl with
her baby teeth still on top.
until they loosen,
fall into an apple or Daddy’s palm,
wait in a pillow for the Tooth Fairy,
i will hold on to this smile of yours.
it is yours, yes,
but it is mine, too.
Techno Dreams
you think you can (______)
with your fancy keys
and techno dreams
but you can’t
you may be the way
but you’ll never be
the face i need
to get me through the day
you think you can (_______)
with your high speed
and techno dreams
but you can’t
you may be the way
of the future, but you’ll
never be the love i need
to get me through the day.
Degrees
it may seem simple and small
it is and it is not
what it lacks
what you cannot see
is a degree of superficiality
(tucked into corners, it pops out)
but the shining star of this show
goes into the rehearsal time.
hours of baking, dyeing, decorating,
hours of designing, painting, waterproofing,
hours of stitching, sewing, piecing
(hours of labor that brought her into the world)
hours of labor to bring her these gifts.
what you will not see
(that elsewhere you are blinded by)
is the degree of superficiality
that makes her party
(her day, her celebration,
her place on this earth)
so simple, so small, so perfect.
Shadow
i sit in their shadow
despite trying to move into the sun
first with my young marriage
then with my tight wallet,
my need to clean,
to be educated,
to let them be what they will be.
i look across at him
hand on top of his.
we nod in inebriated agreement
(they’ll be OK, they are free)
even if we can’t see them
scamper like rabbits
in and out of bushes
living their childhood dreams
while we enjoy our
own brief moment of peace.
we stand to leave
calling their names
like an old song
we’ve sung a thousand times,
and here
without a playground,
a few measly dollars spent,
no other kids in sight,
they moan, beg to stay.
he and i,
we stand in my parents’ shadow
with our young marriage,
our tight wallet,
our need for them to be
who they are going to be
so that we may be
who we are going to be:
us.
Circle of Light
if i could capture that circle of light
i would
a golden shadow-ridden ray of sun
that draws in the twilight
i see Lucy in its glow
(Kentucky calling me home)
with the girls (my girls)
who refuse to go to bed
i should call her
(my sister, my niece)
but how the days suck
me into their time warp
how my mind is on
teaching and teaching
loving and loving
and i forget
i forget
just how many times
i held that baby
and cried when
we parted
if i could capture that circle of light
i would
tuck it into my chest
and forget forget forget
all that is dark
and remember remember remember
this circle of light
that i hold within my palms.
Bittersweet
With what is left
We will take a bite
Of this bitter cake
You will pretend it’s sweet
And I will say the truth
(the brutal truth) as always
It will coat your palette
Leave crumbs on your tongue
That keep you from talking.
When we kiss, its mix of flavors
Will linger between your mouth and mine
(but you won’t wholly share it)
As pungent as a blackberry
Squeezing its midsummer juices
Into the sugary cobbler,
With what is left
We will take a bite
And I too will taste what you call sweet.
Victory
there will never be enough
hours in the day
or minutes within the hours
or muscles within my legs
to accomplish what I need.
instead, I ought to sit back,
sip on the sweet nectar of my microbrew,
enjoy watching the kids burn calories,
and watch the sun settle itself
amidst the purple mountain majesties.
but even with too-short days and
too-sore muscles, and
as sweet as a beer may be,
it will never be as sweet
as the day I claim my victory.
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