POETRY
The Words That Aren't on My Vitae
Meetings with God
God sat beside me.
She smelled like fresh cut grass,
and I remembered
reading once
that the smell is how the grass
cries out
under the blade –
but to me,
it just smelled like summer.
And He seemed content
to sit.
But I
never am
so I asked,
“what should I do?”
And They said,
“Honey
is made
in times of plenty
to bring sweet things
in times of need.”
So I took that
to mean
my work
was all that
mattered.
I flew
from bud to bud
storing up
my safety –
sealing off
everything
I earned.
But
when winter came
it wasn’t
enough.
Then God returned
and sat
beside me.
This time,
She smelled like firewood.
And even though
I knew
the logs blazed on their way
to ash -
to me,
it just smelled like stillness and snow.
“Why am I so lost?”
I cried.
“I stored so much
of my
purpose
into these
tight spaces.”
And He shed
one tear
that hissed
when it hit
the flame,
and said
“Honey,
you stored
the wrong thing,
and neglected
the sweetness
within.”
Ashamed,
I coasted
like a leaf
to
the
ground.
But the soil
was rich,
and my legs
stretched
hungrily
down.
While I took root,
God spread out
a blanket,
and They
dropped
to the
Earth,
sighing
sweetly.
And that’s when
I learned -
God has all the time
in the world
for watching
hearty
things
grow.
Of Insult and Injury
When I was wounded
it was scarlet
and raw -
the pain
relentless.
And you didn’t
care.
So I sat
in my dark and
solitary
spaces
picking at
scabs
until the pain
ran free
again.
I wondered
why
I couldn’t heal
as each day
I clawed
at the
wounds.
Until one day
someone
said
I had to
let it go.
And I tried.
I tried.
I let the wound
scar over.
I stopped picking
in the
dark.
But still,
my flesh
was tight
and painful.
Scarred
reminders
of what
had been done
or left
undone.
And the scar
was part
of me
now.
Throbbing
steadily
through my
days.
Until I read
scar tissue
must be
massaged
to heal.
That it takes
more than
time
more than
forgetting
more than
growth.
It takes
steady
attention
and love.
At first
the gentleness
was too
much.
But
slowly
and steadily
my fingers
met the harshest
devastated
corners
of myself.
With each
compassionate
motion
my pain
protested
then
released
and with it
somehow –
miraculously -
I also
became
free.
HOW TO TALK TO YOUR CHILD ABOUT SCHOOL SHOOTINGS
When bodies of children are
once again
strewn around the room
by an AR15
it is
once again
time
to talk to
our children
about school shootings.
So first,
gather in your home
where you do not have alters to weapons
and sit
in that chair
where you wrote messages
to your representatives
and penned checks
to lobbyists.
And remember how
you voted
each and every time
to make gun control
a central issue.
And make sure
you have plenty of time
to talk to your child
between the usual conversations
of how they are doing
checking on
their mental health.
Just like
you tune in
to the people around you.
and notice those who
struggle,
who are unhinged
and hurting.
And remember
the other day
when you argued
with a neighbor
about why having an
assault rifle
was not a right.
And maybe
you didn’t change his mind
but you’ll never
be silent.
And then you sit
holding your child
close.
breathing in
their innocence.
Showing them
they are loved.
Knowing you
can’t protect them
always.
And then maybe
you say
something
like
how danger can be
anywhere
how violence can
enter their
safe spaces.
And that is why
they have to
practice
hiding
under desks.
But they will look
uncertain
uncomprehending
because
pure minds
cannot grasp
what
we
have allowed
to happen.
SUPERMOM
You see the spit up on my shirt
the messy hair and
fine lines
and you mistake it for a cape.
You call out
“Supermom!”
I look around before realizing
you mean me.
I know you mean well,
but I want to run and plead and show you
that I have no superpowers.
That I don’t need this battle.
Yes,
I peeled myself out of bed in the dark
and showered before I heard the needy voices.
I wrestled with messes of limbs and clothing,
I fed uninterested mouths.
I bent and lifted and struggled and hugged and wiped noses and tears and said goodbyes and felt guilt.
And realized it was only 9 am.
Time for work.
I tried to focus and pumped and struggled to prove my worth and pumped and wondered if it was all worth it and pumped and sighed about all that was left undone
And realized it was 5 pm.
Time to get the kids.
I listened to vague recollections of the day and absorbed the meltdowns and felt guilty and tried to play but the baby was hungry and tired and there was never
enough
time.
So I filled the tub to the chorus of wails and giggles
and filled a brief quiet moment with baby suckles
while I still had Moana to babysit
and watched the microwave spin as it reminded me there was never
Enough
Time.
And I prepared food but ate so fast I could not taste it
and played and read books and snuggled and said a prayer and refilled water and put the covers just right three times like we practiced and closed the door with nothing else left of me.
I wanted to say there is nothing heroic
about being forced to wear a cape
without a safety net.
And it’s impossible
to be everything
to everyone
including myself.
And I’m not fighting a battle of good and evil
but still I’m pummeled and sore and distracted and so blessed and tired and I tell myself I’ll do better tomorrow
but then I remember there’s never
Enough
Time.
LOVE STORY
In Honor of my Grandparents
Do you love a love story?
The swelling music and
magic-in-the-mundane
kind of
devotion,
crafted over decades
of tender gazes?
Then I have
a doozy.
A tale of
girl pursues boy
And
unrequited puppy love
finally sparks and
ignites
and burns brighter than any
diamond he gave her.
Of children one - two
and grandchildren three - four.
Of autumn leaves
and pathways up mountains
and
gossip at bridge club
with stories that never quite end
about you-remember-so-and-so
while he sits as her proudest
Spectator.
And they knew
how to love
and traveled the world
collecting friends
as souvenirs.
And used their hands to craft
beautiful things
like memories -
stained glass recollections and relics
trapping family history
in wood and cloth and stone -
building a home and life for themselves,
but when that was done
he took up his tool belt
and laid new foundations.
So love burned
while life blazed on
and broke them
piece by piece -
his eyes and ears
and then
her mind -
until one day
she didn’t know him.
And he ached
and remembered
the pact they had signed
when their bodies were still
theirs to control -
that at the end,
the very end,
they would be together and
if not
they would go together.
I imagine he kissed her
as she lay there
and remembered
the width of her smile
and the expanse
of their lives
and all the brightest moments
but mostly,
as always,
he remembered what she wanted.
And he knew
he only wanted her.
So in a moment
(that was a lifetime
in the making)
their love was sealed
in one final act.
The epilogue
was shipped in boxes
and lovingly placed on
non-acidic pages
to carry their story
and remind us that love sears and binds
in beauty and pain.
And it simmers but can also explode and splinter off into disparate stories
that we hold
with
one
certainty:
They knew how to love.
I STAY
An Anthem of COVID-19
I wondered
If I could be sea sick,
Having never
Spent much time at sea,
But these days the tilting
Shifting tides
Crash relentless
Around me,
And I realize that
Forever bobbing
In
Uncertainty
Is a torturous thing.
I breathe in beauty
And somewhere within me
It is hammered into fear.
All waking and sleeping
Defined
By waves of difference.
My bones long
For solid ground
But I’m told
It may never be the same,
So I crumble
Into dust
Hoping the winds can scatter
Me away.
But, sadly,
I stay.
WHEN I LOST YOU
I remember when I lost you.
silent tears
flooding the
black and white hole
where your heart
used to be.
How the words they didn’t say
landed loudly,
and for awhile
were all I could hear.
I remember how each
dream of you
was wrenched from me
over and over.
I still have
some things
for you –
shoved in the dark
as if
you’re on your way
to claim them.
Your name hangs
wordlessly
in the air as
we continue on
without you –
a lifetime
that wasn’t meant to be.
A small piece
of death
within me.
TENURE
I bleed time from my tired veins
aching to be
Enough
and receiving only the most
rationed dose
of recognition.
The constant wanting
needing
elusive sense of what I should be doing
what would make me worthy
and really
it’s all
about
Time.
When my baby was there
at my breast
warm bodies straining to
connect to
grow together
I was pulled each hour
to the ticking
of
More.
I stamp my name
as many times
as they will let me
in hopes
One day
it sticks.
That one day a full second
can hold all of me,
and that this clock
won’t strip away
who
I
am.
Or lose
the weight of each
moment,
of the endurance
to strain
and carry the things that
will never
truly
be
counted,
and yet
are the only
things that
count.
And I wish I could smash
this ticking
force that makes
me dance
and contort
and doubt
myself,
but I don’t know how
to stop what’s already
Deeply -
Embedded -
Within me.
RESILIENCE
I woke up
the shallow pool
that holds my pain
was full to the brim.
She saw me there,
spilling over,
her own well deep
and well tended.
She surveyed my loss
nodded
and kindly said,
"It's ok, love.
Start digging."