Another Mother's Hoverboard

Thursday, March 31, 2005

shattered

feelings, like glass
parts:
broken,
repaired and re-repaired.

her love is
twisted and mangled;
and infatuation
is the expression
of it.

lump in my
throat each time
he wields his power
selecting
victims who pose
threat or simply
those he does not like.

there are rules.
there are his rules.

and of course,
there are rules
to being a good person,
which if truly one is
aren't even seen as rules.
just everyday behavior.

but it all boils down
to how much will she
take before she
realizes that we have
taken enough
(in the name of love,
for her.)

we aren't suckers
and we won't be
had anymore

too much pressure
and the glass will
shatter,
unfixable.

Monday, March 28, 2005

seamless

it's one of those days,
you know
where the rain falls,
firing down
escaping the cloud's wrath,
with a purpose all it's own

and your body acts accordingly
tears shedding
them in layers
pain and anxiety and various loves
for a higher purpose: lost
on them. you.

your big bold statements
of kindness and gesture
missed and tricked out:
cold.

you reach for a sweatshirt,
hooded to hide out in
and up wanders a kid:
her cold cheek against
your own strikes something
up alive;

you inhale her salty milk breath
for it is good healing energy
she offers and you notice
you certainly feel broken,
or so you think

until she looks up at you
hard and strong
and your eyes have dried
enough to see back,
shocked to find
that the reflection revealed
suffers no cracks

this is seamlessness.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

dried

longing and exhaustion
tell a story of
nowness that could
not be told any faster
than the time it takes
a yawn to crawl out of
her throat into the
air of i don't care,
reeking bad breath
from an empty stomach
caffeine head
and dizzy spells
detangling
themselves
into a messy room
where eyelids
wait for instructions
on what to do next
fingers are pendulums
of counterclocks
and wise
nonetheless
confess
her feelings
to no one
for they are not hers
they are figments of
half-assed analysis
the heart is a muscle
that operates like
the cunt:
dehydrated it
becomes frail;
it wills itself to fail.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

i can't believe your eyes!

Hiding inside of her words
she can take off
dress
herself up in metaphor
and longing and expose
intellect and past study

She can carve out beauty-
right out of herself
and doll it all up in decorative
lace
looking from afar with pride
a child off to school

It stands on its own
legs and all, yet
always lacks
always misses
the point

It's identity screams
silly
futile.

Gentle existence
like wind in her hair:
slips.

She could stop tomorrow
and nothing would change

She could stop hiding
and change for herself.

Myself.

i think i may do that.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

in the fight

well folks
i prepared myself
for the reality

tragically
and infinitely
over

but i had not
prepared myself
for the lesson
i have learned

still learning

there is a fight
in all of us

it is ours
to win

my nanie is playing
to win

and she is teaching
all of us

about strength
in huge doses

the reality will certainly
exist
at some point

but i see now it will be
on her OWN terms

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Nanie

she is 83 and i know
that is old.

but she is my nanie
and in all the years
that i have been alive
she has always seemed
EXACTLY the same
to me

she never seemed
to get any older
or slower
(though of course maybe
she did,
i simply never noticed)

there is a presence
in nanie of someone
SO magnificient
and strong

yet she is so centered

i love her

my memories
of her.

the times she'd
care for my siblings
and i
we watched jeopardy
while she knitted
or quilted
always asking for help
with the tv remote

her distinctive
laugh
that always
took people
aback,
herself included.

as if joy
suprised
her

driving with her,
she'd play games
with the accelerator
seeing if we could
cruise home without
her touching
the gas pedal

we didn't make
it home that way,
she eventually
gave in when
we were practically
stopped.

i still smile
at that thought,
like it happened
yesterday.

she has had a turn
now
after a major surgery

she needs to cruise
she needs OUR strength
she will be fine

whether she makes
it home
or not.

she will be.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

frozen

this could be her
hell indeed

the wind whips
with rage hers

reflects with equal
force of course

time is moving
change, inevitable

but her sleep is
deprived

and they all
need her to be
what she simply needs
a
break
from
being
for a minute
or two

isn't that obvious?

waffles each and every
meal for an entire day?

laundry backed up
several?

nipples bitten down
to nubs with overuse?

take them
take me
take it all

i have nothing
else to give
and i need a
rebirth.

hell is a terrible
metaphor buried
beneath this snow,
my heart.

Sunday, March 06, 2005

collectivework

"i love you
are beautiful words"
says ezra

"i never had a friend
like you dad"
he says

"i am going to type
some nice letters
now, mom."

"some nice poems
for myself!"

"what poem is
this gonna be
called?"

"i don't
know-
what should it be

pal?"

hmmm.

"I LOVE EZRA TO
THE WORLD!"

"that's nice,
right mom?"

sure is...

Saturday, March 05, 2005

electric times

cords strangle and nourish
finding the right outlet
the exciting part

trees stand stoic
skin dries and flakes
inner sanctum remains
at wait

a moment's notice
from one mood to next
the text of life is often
in braille

fingers scream out
tap tap tap
on keyboard
her voice is loud and frail

each day is a practice
there is no final
there is no game

life is practice
for itself

forever
the plug

Friday, March 04, 2005


hey momma..stop taking photos, and get me out of my pj's!!

winter haiku

long morning winter
branches remain stronger now
again we will thaw



Tuesday, March 01, 2005

domino decades

Domino decades

Line up in strange patterns


Plundering


Thundering through aisles of memories

Selecting dusty items to consume


Exhume


She possessed many loves

Each color coded with an appropriate label


Fable


One was her Favorite flavor

But ultimately rarely available

And the disappointment waiting


Fading


Helped her mind brew anew

Taste love for the now of it.


Of what she considers

Today is the many whom she

Knocked down leaving


Wounds


Words of explanation

Explication


The sum of that tragedy

She cast upon so many

Will never add up to

What she walked away from


And kept on.

SNOW. GO.

snow falls like
cheerios to the floor

neither ever seem to
go away
no matter
how much the
plow/vacuum
do their

work

it gets the best
of me
us

time

to remember
summer
heat waves
and days
spent yearning
for sweats and
snowstorms
and cuddling under

covers

our street in
snow
not a blanket
but a thick
new
landscape

built

new worlds:
grand architecture
of purity

security

but then
they too would
fall
like sun's
rays

melted.


a face only a mama could love? mmmm, not so sure...skittles are pretty sticky...!


Righteous mama with her righteous babe!