they have never seen
or collected one by one
bullfrogs hopping into the water
quicker than a wind shift
we pace like predators
around the pond
tiny whispered voices containing
excitement over bulging eyes
there are no mountains here
only hills so dense with trees
you’d never see the rocky bottoms
when we’re so used to rocky tops
instead horses swing reluctant tails
in air as thick and slow as syrup
and we watch a turtle slither on a log
and frog after frog hop into our hearts.
Kentucky heat on a
new side of the state
(one that doesn’t give in
to early sunsets)
guides us up and down
hills on a windless evening
i grin,
back on the bike
after a week,
two whirlwind drives
six states over from
the mountains
as lush vines
thick-as-elephant tree trunks
and curvacious
nonchalant
southern hills carry us home
we stop
just shy of their house,
a perfect park
(playground and all)
distant trees
gripping the edges
of a burning red circle
that strikes
my sixteen-year-old heart
still beating lovingly
all these years later
that same sun
hidden by wisps of clouds
a bright mark of beauty
on the tired world
over the spires and forests
of Oxford
now reappears,
and i have no stairs to sit on,
no lonely walk home,
no desperate inquiries
in a dorm hallway
about what was missed,
but instead
my hands on my handlebars,
him standing beside me,
my sunset shared at last.
in 3.5 days
i have climbed two mountains
driven seventeen hours
hiked 1.5 miles
in and out of a canyon
vacuumed the house
bathed and combed three girls
hosted eleven more
drunk seven microbrews
noted the Firefox spelling inadequacies
and noticed that
my friends are all friends
with each other
our kids play like
Fairy Tale Land
perfect combinations of love
and
my veteran husband
can cook hamburgers
like there’s no other option
but meat
on Memorial Day
Love Day
Family Day
Friends Day
Coming Down the Mountain Day
this is Our Day
the love i never had
the friends i never had
the love
the love
the love
all around us.
trees drip with relentless spring,
weather that doesn’t belong here.
gray skies and chilled air,
we let them go on the last day
we stand under umbrellas, hoods,
huddled in sportsmanslike clutches,
our hands in Miss America waves
as endless yellow buses parade off.
we move into meetings, arguments:
what is best with what we don’t know yet
as rainwater greasily coats the glass,
blocking our view of the mountains.
the parade of buses will bring them back
on a sunny, hot summer day in August,
but we will not be huddled, hands in air,
waving our wanton hands in supplication.
we will wait in gray classrooms, chilled air
as trees glisten with relentless summer,
our view of the peaks shiny and new
their view of the world shiny and new.
Nouns:
circles and chains
sunshine and wisps
pavement and dirt
grass and trees
giggles and smiles
Adjectives:
silver and black
warm and blue
smooth and rough
prickly and shady
bubbly and bright
Verbs:
pedal and spin
blare and float
pound and push
lie and relax
laugh and scream
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.
don’t go off the sidewalk
we warn as they abandon
their ice cream remnants
and dash to their brief
moment of freedom.
fearless leader number one
follows the handicap ramp
to its very edge, dangles
her arm like a proud warrior
over the parking lot,
two mini warriors behind,
waiting, watching, weaning
themselves into a new era
of independence.
As stated matter-of-factly
hundreds of times, this tower
(brick-not-steel, pointed
and dominant) was the tallest
building in Denver when
at age twenty-one, like the
pioneers two generations back
(two generations back from me)
my great-aunt Frances walked
through downtown (1937)
We enter it for the first time in
my life tonight, year twelve of
our young marriage. “Finally,”
you say, “something you haven’t
already done,” opening the door for me.
Did she see it? Painted crown molding
on the ceilings, intricately laid
white marble (smooth and cool
against the skin on a summer night),
architecture from a bygone era.
Would she care about the cabaret
burlesque show that emanates from
the basement stairwell? Or did she know,
with her domineering, independent shoes
that carried her here from Kansas,
that, just like the steel-concrete-glass
skyscrapers that have tried to trump this,
it still stands in a changing world,
here we stand in a changing world,
its strength (our strength) unwilling to give up
its place in the heart of the city (of love).
you sit like a tiny blue frog
hidden in the twilight on
a lily pad surrounded by black water
almost impossible to see
but i know you’re there
hiding out, zippy tongue ready
in a moment, you will snatch
away my summer, swallowing
my girls as if they were annoying flies.
i can’t disappear from this encounter,
but only work my way closer, ready
to pry you open, releasing them, in spring.
my legs ache from want
of the bike paths, of women on bikes,
mosquitoes and fleas now eat me alive
and i miss my mountain peaks
but
i feel i will miss this more
the gurgling babyhood smiles
the hickory-oak-taller-than-buildings forests
the relentless rivers and rains
the stick-to-the-skin heat
and everything i should hate
that i have head over heels
fallen in love with
but mostly
our family, our (second) home,
knowing the hollowness that will
sit between the hours of my days
when reality returns
and i will have to live without.
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