sun rays stream through clouds
on Appalachian hills
green, white, blue beauty
with chunks of chicken
sticker books and melting chocolate
crinkly bags of beef jerky
mini pencils strewn like petals
crumbs in every crack
we make our way along the border
its golden sphere beckons us to stop.
we can’t go inside but see the perfect playground,
the grass soft as our new carpet,
the two-story fountain filled with children
who hear it erupt and rush
like carnivorous hawks toward fresh prey,
and i forget
(for all of ten minutes)
that i am not one of them,
but the parent
now soaked from head to toe,
dress sticking to my legs
as my three little girls
weave me in and out of spurts
in our quilt of childhood joy,
sewing up the perfect end
to a dogged day’s drive.
as much as i hear what you say
i will never understand why.
how in any right mind
could five rooms full of
talking-back teenagers
ever compare
to the jubilant joy
of young children
dashing through the snow?
their voices carry
like songbirds emerged in winter,
shutting out all the
whipping wind’s hollowness.
yet,
you would rather be here,
trapped in our windowless dungeon,
feeding them the lines
you’ve spouted so many times?
i’ll take my two weeks
and carry them in my mind
on my forever vacation.
for now,
i will draw a zipper across my lips
and, for once, be polite.
after all,
this year cannot carry on,
and summer’s sun,
giggling girls,
and road trips
beckon my dreams
from your harsh reality.
one stretch of road
that all my life
living here
i’ve never seen
how it curves and dips
reveals a view
of peaks and forests
of bicyclists making
their way to their next destination
(here is where the heart is)
of log cabins
and tiny towns
hidden trails
and geocaches
campgrounds tucked in
amongst aspens
and dirt roads
and i am reminded
(do i need a reminder?)
of why i am here,
why we are here
here
here
on this curvy
dipping winding road
that takes us home.
I saw you dressed in imperfection
Slipping out of the horizon into obscurity
Like an orange Valentine cookie
That my lover took a bite from.
Slowly, slowly you rose up from the dead
And as the Kansas sky tried to swallow you
With its hungry wind and blaring stars, you
Filled the midnight with a semicircle of light.
(a waning gibbous science teachers would say)
But to me, your missing piece made you whole
As you bathed the highway with your persistence,
Your imperfect circle guiding me all the way home.
One downtrodden minivan
Two impatient, scratchy, whiny pets
Three cranky, anxious, bored little girls
Four filled-with-books-and-movies iPods
Five warm-for-summer-weather sleeping bags
Six BPA-free and steel hot-water-by-now bottles
Seven wheels on two bikes, a trailer, and a tag-along
Eight crammed-into-the-carryon pairs of extra summer shoes
Nine months of planning, cramming, shoving, swearing, packing
Ten priceless weeks with the cutest, newest addition to our family.
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