oldest in college
(concurrent enrollment win)
(can remove spiders)
youngest wants hair cut
just in time for her birthday
my new career–ha!)
August Coronatine Accomplishments
relationships
Still the One (Twenty-two Years)
you can’t get this far
without climbing some mountains
oh, but the aspens.
Road Trip 2020 (Swim Me a Snake)
the river’s icy
the current is too strong, son
but no one stops us
i can never look
without wanting to dive in
to fully swim. live.
they get this from me.
these kids who are not my kids.
these kids who are mine.
we swim for ice cream.
for these fleeting memories.
for their childhoods.
Cilantro (Culantro)
he corrected me
even though it’s in Spanish
white buds. so pretty.
‘no’ is a new word
yet so familiar to me.
so adolescent.
we’ll see where this goes.
a flat road to nowhere fast?
or the sky, endless?
Coronatine, Day Sixty-eight (Passages)
she designed this house.
my baby girl, age thirteen.
(she loves her kitties).
she’s my crafty one.
my sweet entrepreneur.
my bright young woman.
and just like her cat
who gives unlimited love,
she will forgive me.
Coronatine, Day Sixty-one
I went to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to write about the nightmare I had last night where no one was wearing a mask.
Could you imagine, three months ago, having a nightmare about people not wearing masks in Target?
Actually, King Soopers was well-stocked today. Everyone I saw had a mask on. People at 8:30am obeyed the one-way aisle rules, and best of all? I stayed within my budget.
I made a budget for my post-work husband, starting at the beginning of May. $200 a week. It may sound extraordinarily excessive, but we’ve got six mouths to feed, and these are American prices, after all.
But I bought extras today. This bugleweed. A roll of packaging tape. And sushi because fuck Wednesday cooking.
And, my nightmares should end soon.
Because my post-work husband got a job, a non-union, non-seniority-screws-you job, doing exactly what he’s great at and wants to do forever, in the midst of a pandemic.
And.
And you can call it what you want. White privilege. True. Luck. Absolutely. Divine intervention. Maybe.
Or just… fate. The fate that led him through the Air Force to me, that led the boy to our doorstep, that led three beautiful daughters into our home, that led his previous experience to him becoming the best candidate out of all the others being laid off.
Coronatine, day sixty-one. It’s a beautiful image filled with pets, hope, and love.
And I want to hold on to this non-nightmare feeling for as long as I can.
And.
This cat was born to be a model. Good night.
Coronatine, Day Fifty-eight (Mother’s Day)
we’re stepping outside
into this beautiful yard
to celebrate love
it’s a bit risky
and only sixty degrees.
but it’s Mother’s Day.
each girl made a card
and worked to include this boy
in conversations
it’s as good as weeds
ripped from choking my garden
so beauty can breathe
Coronatine, Day Forty-three
my perfect birthday,
in my mind, pre-corona,
would never be this
(there might be mountains,
a fondue restaurant, views
not in the background)
but with so much time
and simply nowhere to go
love works its way in
my middle’s painting,
a dress hand sewn by my mom,
hand-dipped strawberries
and saved till tonight
my oldest breaks, repairs me
with this card; her words
my perfect birthday
brought to me by a virus
with two gifts: Time. Love.
Coronatine, Day Forty
this is just to say
I have lost the art contest
to everyone in my dining room
they were so strong
and so detailed
so much depends upon
a teenage smile
giving a snarky peace sign
with an artist’s pencil
beside her sassy sisters
Coronatine, Day Thirty-eight
these organized shelves
ready to be fully stocked
with his last paychecks:
they represent us,
our Coronatine journal,
worry turned to work
work we’re still doing
with tiny pics on small screens
working for our kids
our creative kids
with a cat-house-building night
paw prints, love, and all
“new normal” softens
as we make the best of fate
on day thirty-eight
