A Mother's Day Wish: A Poem by Me

"Poetry is a record of the life around us and in us, and you'll get a better idea from poetry what it was like to be alive in 2011 than you will from the New York Times." ~Garrison Keillor

If this is so, I only hope my own poetry can live up to the task.  This poem was written this week, May 2011:

 

 A Perfect 84

42 years of a life,

Lived well and full,

Is not enough to wrap,

My weary arms around the world.

42 more would do,

Let’s make it symmetrical.

42 more would do very well.

My social calendar,

Is much too full.

84 years you say?

You’d be lucky.

I know.

But, 84 years in the scope of things,

Is just a drop on the great agar plate

Of the world.

84 years is all I ask,

A perfect number seemingly.

Keats got only 25,

And I’m no Keats,

That’s what I see.

We’ll call him Gabe,

My angel

Alarmed me of what’s to come.

He tapped me on the shoulder ,

Changed my curfew to some,

Night I never dreamed of,

Then changed it once again so I’d learn.

Then I knew,

That I was strong enough.

I knew when I saw you in my room,

That night, of all nights,

Mr.Gabriel.

Thank you for coming so soon.

I only wish,

That you were less frightening,

With your perfectly trimmed beard.

And eyes of clay and sinfulness,

Here on hallowed ground, so rare.

We are less earthy than you think,

Bring your white robes, I don’t care.

But I forgive you, Gabriel,

Your message was loud and clear:

These hands have more,

Comfort to give.

This left hand more to write.

This right hand more peace to share,

With those I encounter each night.

This hair much more,

Than vanity,

A frank expression of who I am.

This brain to compute and rationalize,

My relation to earth as it stands.

These eyes,

They are a window,

To a soul,

Not clean, but bright.

These bulky arms,

Which I lament,

Have held my child so tight.

These ears to listen caringly,

To those whom need me most.

This mouth with which to kiss goodnight,

All those whom are not lost.

These teeth to chew

The chocolate, most delicious and so fine.

This nose to smell the springtime air,

As it wispily leaves the vine.

This neck,

To accept,

Kisses and caresses,

All the same.

These shoulders

To shoulder the gardening,

Creating life along the way.

These breasts create a line,

From me to my

Beloved and his stare.

My waist encompassed by those arms

Who really, truly care.

My hips contain my power,

Of life and femininity.

Those thighs that I wish smaller,

Have gotten me from sea to sea.

These old calves are

Not so bad,

But shaving them gets routine.

My feet, oh my woeful feet,

You can kiss them,

But not this week.

My heart,

I save the best for last,

It holds so many dear.

Although I may not express myself,

Hear me loud and clear.

84 years,

Almost a century,

Of life to give and share,

This body with the great wide world,

I’ll do it, if you dare.

Knowing that I love you all,

Sleep silently,

Knowing that I care,

And never for a minute dream

Of when you will not be here.

Leave that worry all to me,

I’ve seen it all before.

To me it’s just a path I’m on,

And I’ve just opened the great big door.

This is my one wish for you,

Life can be so unfair.

For I have people looking out for me,

Some white dove--down here, up there.

Oh No!  I’ve lost my shoes again,

Radiation is a bear.

On Awareness: A Plea

Scarecrow Most Eerie
(photo taken at the organic farm of a friend)

On Awareness: A Plea

Does tomorrow melt in your mouth,

Not in your hands,

Like Desire pulling you along by a taut, silken harness,

Only to nestle and caress you within the jaws of the famished world?

Do you tell your Prince to wake you later,

As you languishly linger within the folds

Of a sleep, unblemished by potion?

But, sooner than later, you will need those eyes open wide,

That breath strong and able,

Expanding and contracting for life.

Do you gaze across an open, fertile landscape,

Only to while away in longing,

For that noble Youth,

When all bitter Beauty has is these petals in her void?

All the while, the leaves rustle amongst us, calling out for Winter,

Awaiting to hear his step on the porch boards.

Do your dreams recall a listless longing,

Lying limp and open on the forest floor,

White flood rising from your cool gown,

A sad stream echoing your delirious sleep?

A cold wind blows, suddenly,

harsh and heavy upon your parched skin.

Shivering with eyes aflutter,

You think,

Perhaps, there is another way,

To conceive of this future,

Without falling through the cracks and chasms,

Of a life lived by another.

As you grasp the reins,

You navigate your way,

Slowly, ever so slowly,

Forward.

Getaway Car

The first day of school seemingly went off without a hitch. I woke up well before the alarm, the coffee pot brewed a full pot of coffee without spilling all over the kitchen or malfunctioning, Tristan woke up without a fight, and we both made it to the bus stop fully clothed. Historically this hasn't been the case. With the bus stop being at the end of the driveway and the middle of winter being dark and tundra-like, it is very tempting to remain in modest nightwear. Also, I sent Tristan to school last year one day without underwear due to the darkness and my verging on sleepwalking in the morning, causing me to almost have a mental breakdown from the worry of his reaction when he realized nothing stood between him and his uniform pants.

This morning, however, Tristan and I happily made the short walk to the bus stop all bright- eyed and bushy-tailed, and READY. We spy the flashing lights in the distance of the approaching bus. I turn to notice the one remaining toy left in the driveway from our fun-filled summer (his Volkswagen New Beetle, kid-sized). So, I say to Tristan, "You know there is still a way out. Your getaway car is waiting in the driveway. All you have to do is get in it and drive away." We hear the roar of the bus approaching. He says, "Yeah, that would be great! Except that car is too slow and it only has two seats. I think I'll take the Cabrio (my own adult-sized Volkswagen). That way we can both leave and spend the rest of our lives together at Target!"

Gotta love my guy! First grade, here he comes!

Tristan

Well, it was off to school for Tristan today. It was his first full day and first time on the bus. This marks the end of my almost five years of being a full-time mom. The door of the bus shut today, and I stood helplessly trying to see into the tinted windows for a last glimpse of my little boy leaving to enter the world on his own. It was both sad and wonderful at the same time, knowing that all the time and teaching and care I have given him over the years will now be put to the test. As the bus rolled off, my old life rolled off with it. I was left behind with just myself, again.

Tristan, this first post is for you. May you spread your wings and fly! I'll be waiting with open arms for you when you come home...