laughter is the best medicine

There are few things odder
than hearing a bevy of doctors
laugh and joke and carry on
with a critically ill man
who is smiling (smiling!)
through the shocking of his heart
and the restoration
to
a
good
rhythm. (lub-dub)

Yes! Saved another one.

watery reflection

Throwing rocks today in the river
(Kersplash!)
I realized
I miss the sound
of the waves
Lapping the shore,

And how much I miss the smell of dead fish and cold water I grew up with.

Rivers are nice, but I miss the great waters of home.

Поврежденные дети*

My ovaries tug
when we watch the Russian documentary
and how I'd love to take them all
scoop them up,
see that their stories not end
in the dark corner of a ward
Or the milk-sour sheets of a barred crib.

These children need light

light, and love
(and I have so much love to give)

But my arms cannot stretch across the ocean.
They are too far,
and cannot be comforted.

Reality is a bitter pill, twice-swallowed.

*The Damaged Children

falling in love on vacation

You flicked your hair
out of your eyes and pointed, lazily.

Look, there.

We watched
thundering herds of alpaca
disappear over the mesa,
and then focused back on each other, dipping our toes
back into the rock-lined pool that meanders down the mountain.

Your skin was cool while my heart echoed their hooves.

Where would you be, today?
Are you all grown up
with kids
and a wife
and a dog
a horse ranch in the shadows of the hills?

and vague memories
of a summer long ago
with sun baked rocks and a lisping waterfall in the background

and a girl-woman whose heartbeat
was in time with yours.

Maybe you don't remember.

But
I
do.

Ah bah cah

After sweltering through the usual housework

it's almost relaxing
(almost)
to go through the sounds of the alphabet together
(almost reading! whee!)

but damn it's hard to fake enthusiasm
for those damned
phonics

again.

Somewhere in the back of my head I thought you'd absorb
this too, like
you've picked up on almost everything else your big brother does.

More fool me.

Ah?
Bah?
Cah?

This is a little like potty training.

And a lot like hell.

roadside stop

Pulled off and parked
grass in front
pavement in back

Cars flitting like bright berries through
the green of the opposite bank

Sitting here is soothing and an urban reminder all at once.

The women in the car next to me do not enjoy the view.

Instead they huff on smokes
bicker exquisitely about something
borne away on the wind

like the last of the petals off the pollution-stunted cherry tree.

the best thing is you

Last night
we took a walk after supper
bellies full, comfortable with the company we were in
followed the sighing reeds and sand
along
the scuffed path
and to the wide-open
mind-open
beach.

We
were only there for the stroll
to hold hands and brace against the wind
but of course
because it's the ocean (the ocean!)
we rolled up our pantlegs

and stumbled through the icy waves.

There are pretty pebbles on the floor of the sea.
I reached down, down
fingers shocked icy white sticks of chalk, blurring in the water
bringing up
the sweetness of the falling night.

Treasures, all.

matinee

Even cold popcorn can't compete with this.

The way your hand grips your cup and your teeth dent the straw
and your whole being seems lifted up and away among the stars.

You bite your lip and peer up through your bangs, groping for the last milkdud as the theme music
swells

and crescendo

and your face bursts back into familiarity with the rolling of the credits.


'That was great, Mom', you say, and hop down, ready to
kick ass on the video games in the lobby.


You've been the best date I've had in ages. Wanna go out next weekend?

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.

It's really November?

There are few things

Sunnier

than a gorgeous, open-blue sky day

and a small person running
to find

the last leaves
creaking on the trees.

(mittens fly in abandon)

the wrath of mama bear

When you
(who have no children)
informed my husband
that we were lacking

(and possibly dangerous to other people we love)

about something
that isn't your CONCERN

I caught a glimpse of something I hadn't seen before

that you

are JEALOUS
and LONELY
and UNHAPPY

in your looks-so-perfect life.

And I will never look at you the same way again.

sometimes life is all Who lyrics

The sky is glass, the sea is brown
You pretend that you don't see
It's in my own hands, I know I'll cope,
You can't listen you won't hear me


How can we forgive a grievance
Prepare to walk the line
I think this heart has bled once too often,
I'm gonna make the most of my time

cabin fever

Turning my secrets
Inside out
Knowing all my flavors

Wondering how
I ever lived without you

And wondering how
I can push you away again

Because
I like
to
be

a

little

mysterious.

the manse gets the best spam

Against this sky no longer of our world.
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
will come, blighting our harbingers of spring,
What? What can you do?
Bronze the sky, with no
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings
Of meaning like these the world created by
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
Across the heavens' gray.
Everywhere, utterly.
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape,
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages


Vilhjalmur Stefansson was an incredible man, exploring much and learning throughout his life.

While I have no idea if he wrote the above, (and can't find any reference to him crafting words in this way) seeing the spam led me to google him and end up reading about this person I never would have known about.

I love this about the internet.