country driving

do you think
then when a car loops down the road
a song blaring, driver boogeying to the beat

that the music thrums through the forest and away and into space
(a black bird, rebuffed, wings into flight)
and the trees brace themselves for the foreign sound?

or do you suppose the trees
angle in, listening, and extend their branches just a bit

and think I've heard that song before?

seven

You were so small, so miniature
So l-o-u-d in the indrawn hush blip-blip of the O.R.
Squashy red raisin, dark-headed...boy? Boy!

Your father held you in cupped hands, breath held, like Dresden
and I......

...I hiccoughed and tried not to let the amazed tears
shake my loose belly open where the surgeon was trying to close.

How is it possible that you're seven?
Seven is for big kids, for skinned knees and riding bikes and

well, you're so mine, whatever the age.

Happy Birthday, baby.
We are so glad you're here.

mrrup

new cats have discussions with the other cats about food
and water
and who gets to sleep on the bed.

it's all very civilized until the claws come out.

there will be resolutions. Everyone will like each other. Eventually.

at two am, eventually seems very far away.....

state of the union address

Sometimes the politics make no sense.

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with the thought

that it will be your face I'll see, forever,
and really? The rest of my life? Do I really want to do this?

but stopping makes no sense.

Some days I realize what a gaping nothing there would be

If I kicked and screamed and worked out our differences
(tried to work out our differences)

And nothing worked. If the holes I'd tear couldn't be closed.

But still. Do I want to stay this way?

Inertia kills. Or at least wounds.

all the pieces

Often I am so busy
With laundry and bills and does the dog have to go out again?
And the news and the computer and homework
and how was your day, dear?
That I forget -or worse, ignore-
that you just wanted to make a puzzle.

Hunker down on the floor, pour out all the pieces, sort them
by color and shape and flat sides

but noone else. Just Mama. Just...me.

I forget, because you seem so young
That you won't always be three
And want to scooch down, belly on the ground,
And talk about your day. And color. And brush the dolls' hair.
And tell me stories of Penelope the Hairbrush and her friends,
saving the day, one wayward curl at a time.

I need to remember that someday I'll be remembering
how small

you were,

and wishing you back, just for one more puzzle.

she has her wings now

She was twelve and headstrong
Caught between teenager and little-girl
tossing head and laughing mouth
When she disappeared

And although now we don't know
What happened
We know someone took her away
and snuffed out her light
closed her eyes and silenced her laughter
and left us to piece together the whys and hows


And we're scared and bewildered and missing this child/woman
we never really knew
And frightened that this could happen again
And so, so sad for her family, lost and broken.

The wind still shrieks her name around corners, but only the seagulls answer.

midnight covers check

Sometimes
The poetry of her
Is most evident in her long legs
Her funny crooked toes
And the gorgeous sweep of her back.

Arms flung recklessly about in sleep.

And I wonder how
The world ever was

Before her.