art in real life:
like a dream reimagined
for my artist girls
can you feel petals
(a digital fantasy)
falling on your face?
If Only Vincent Knew
family
Versions of Home
summer camp is done.
art, yoga, cycling, love.
and home stretch? cooking.
these so-rare smiles
pouring milk for tortillas
like happy siblings
did you say siblings?
how about our matching twins
with perfect spring rolls?
don’t forget sushi
made with Chinese expertise
to brighten their eyes
and fufu for all
stirred by girls from two cultures
finding friends at home
these mandazi men
so proud of their puffed product
all the way from home
taco influence
on the next generation
sharing her home’s heart
this sweet quesillo
comes from home with a sweet tale
(we’ve hit a home run)
Only a Few Servings Left
a weak pea harvest
(summer slips through soft moments
between camping; school)
yet the girls giggled
as they shucked their peas from pods
(no longer my peas)
summer’s soft moments
so fleetingly green and fresh
each year grown harder
Perfectly Fleeting
my pup, lake, camp, board:
seemingly perfect weekend
(calm before the storm)
the weather plagues me
sending wind when there was none
and stealing these views
if i could lift wings,
glide pelican-like, headfirst,
it wouldn’t matter
alas, i must walk
through all the humanoid storms
that we’ve created
CycleLife
"bikes for everyone"
is our summer camp motto
(if not, it should be)
what did we just learn?
first, bike vocabulary:
then, real practice
the best from today?
my daughter's helpful patience
(a prospective teacher)
at sixteen years old
learning to ride can be hard
(a kind heart can help)
childhood bullies
prevented her from riding
till my girl taught her
no award for this
no graduation medal
yet, better than gold
Grounded
begonia angel:
perfect wings and hollow center
symbol of my life
High Water
the most perfect park
the most perfect afternoon
marred by words, actions
my innocent girl
who only wanted this day
not a broken mom
but it's just a blur
one day bleeds into the next
watered with defeat
Not Haikus
i used to write poetry
broken lines, imperfect syllables, heart
so hard so imperfect so fucking bright
like the blue sky trying to break through and taunt a hailstorm but instead instead
instead
it's just ice
not the rain we needed to cool us in a heatwave
just ice
tearing through my well-tended garden
stealing the blue sky
steeling the blue eye
and ruining me
A Tree Grows in Denver
family tradition:
plant trees for graduates
and watch how they grow
my mother's tree stands
at my great-aunt's former home
taller than us all
my sister's tree shades
disappearing middle-class
(our childhood home)
and my tree shocks me
evading the ash borer
with grandiose grace
Fuzzy Blooms
thank you for the “no.”
as phallic as this lupine
(allium ignored)
i will learn from this
(things i tell myself at night)
and grow a sagebrush
it will bloom purple
(you can’t see my true color)
and you can’t taste it
yet, here it blossoms
as beautiful as the home
you constantly loathe
i know. i know. i…
you don’t see what i see. stop.
but god. how it hurts.
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