yesterday a run
in a cami under sun
today’s dawn… sun gone?
crazy cat attack
wishing winter would come back
two feet deep… too steep?
cookies baked, cake made
springtime sun pushes through shade
drive scraped clean… spring mean?
shifting weather here
spring teases, but winter’s near
snow spring… children sing.
my colleague had
Teacher Tequila Tuesday.
i ran three miles, carpooled kids,
cooked vegan chili and cornbread,
gathered girls from play date,
showered, did our taxes,
spoke in Spanish por teléfono,
and never slurred a word.
he may be Mr. Popularity.
but i win this Tuesday.
the parent’s dilemma:
restrict further to protect
or cause more sneaking?
snow carries in spring
between white petals and flakes
baby blue returns
they’re slightly off tune
surrounded by perfection
like flowers blooming
not quite ready yet
for the season to push through
bursting in the sun
but they’re mine, all mine
smiles and chases and love
bursting through the blue
those teary secrets
all teens keep under cover
bring moms the shivers
morning chore cheer-up:
all summer clothes on clearance,
kids ride penny horse
turtle view walk
(kids swim free in Denver’s dream)
then neighborhood grill
tinker toy swing joy
with a dose of dream house night:
Saturday served up
after a draining day
with back talk on all fronts
i just want to laugh it up
at a simple game
between a spiral and a kitten
to spin my mood back
ride along canal
to find new favorite playground
the March to summer
a sunny March Friday
juiced with music and art
divided by a field trip
pounded by a parent teacher conference
squeezed between piano and happy hour
(tea for me please)
topped off with restaurant and workout
and the cooling creamy dream
of mint chocolate chip
for a sunny side down ending
to my never ending meal
the school door is locked at 5 a.m.
in case you needed to know,
your key card will conjure the green light,
but the door won’t click open.
7-Eleven is open at that hour,
and there’s no traffic on any street.
nothing but a sliver of silver moonlight
competing with the dull yellow glow of city streetlights.
you can walk with fear in your step
(who is that hooded creature?)
while waiting for the door to open.
listen to your audiobook about the
Roosevelt Panama Canal scandal.
(wish you hadn’t heard it, wish Roosevelt could remain the king of conservation you’ve admired atop
Mt. Rushmore, glasses, grin, and all)
you can find yourself at 5 a.m.
piled under papers and planning,
sleep surrendered to 4-prep stress,
solace comes from pre-dawn accomplishments.
(the door clicks open at 5:30.
before the secretary can check you in.
before breakfast lunch carts arrive,
and hundreds of hungry hands hanker for your time)
you can start a day at 5 a.m.
it will be inundated with a quagmire of mother’s guilt and teacher’s helplessness,
all because of a shuttered door.
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