Bring Back the Kids

 

I danced across the tile 

of the clean kitchen floor

and ate alone, in peace, at leisure,

exercising as I liked, 

enjoying hobbies at length,

I enjoyed the quiet, the echo 

of solitude, the enlightening feeling

of having complete thoughts,

and began to feel human again

for the first time in so long...what joy!

I drank my coffee hot,

had a long hot shower,

ate my food hot. 

No children to interrupt, to disrupt

to bother and trouble and complain,

to need and to ask and to cry. 

No children at last- free, free! 

Until I began to feel, strangely, slowly...

that in all my newfound space- 

space to be fully alive and independent, adult!

there was, too, that cavernous quality

about the clean (too clean) house. 

And there was the realization,

like a reflection, that left alone

I quickly become a vacuous, shallow,

self-centered person, not at all the amazing

superhuman Wonder Woman 

I once thought I would be. 

And so I laugh at my foolishness

and make a call, to bring back, 

bring back the kids,

for whom the house exists.

Brief Tutorial for Waking Up

The first step is to pry open 

the eyelids with crow bars- lots of elbow grease,

apply pressure as needed;

Then use the dolly to lift 

and heave one's self

off bed, onto floor. 

Climb the mountain to stand,

firmly planting (with trowel and spade)

one foot in front of the other, 

applying fertilizer for optimal results.

Wipe off sweat, then heave forward

suddenly, explosively, using full force!

like rolling a boulder

or like launching a rocket

or some other heroic effort 

to get back up 

and live another day. 

Rising Early

I did not know that the dew would be heavy

like bowls and mirrors hanging 

off the leaves, and leave me cold and cubed.

Or that the sun would burn round

on the horizon, copper and bronze, 

or sound like a gong from my center, somewhere close.

Or that the birds would hush 

and then sing again, faster, higher

or flash past in blues and whites, their gray-striped suits,

like strips of fabric in the wind.

I couldn't know until I woke up early enough,

pulled back the heavy lids, 

the covers like stone from a tomb,

and awakened to the new world,

presented myself to its throne and kneel, forehead soft. 

What is Love (in One Breath)?

Love is an ocean

Great big and swelling 

Sweeping away the untidy shells 

Rubbing raw with salt water spray;

The ocean is a terror

A dark abyss of unknowns

A great danger of sand bars and sharks;

The water churns and purifies,

It roars and pushes along my little boat;

I somehow sail to wherever I’m supposed to be.

Tone Deaf

 

If I keep playing in E minor

perhaps you will not hear any music at all

but the still, old sound of raindrops on the window,

the mirror-slick orbs patting

the glass like tears on crystal cheeks,

Listen! the window is just that: a window,

not a metaphor. But a window overlooking the oaks

dropping acorns across the sprawling thistled lawn,

and the cheeks can be metaphors and the tears can be nothing

but commas and other familiar punctuation

to get at the thing that needs to be said

without saying, well, anything at all.