firing up the activities
the first night back
and I’ve traded sleep for doing
two states and one photo today:
that’s how it goes
we come into service
and the calendar balloons with commitments –
easing back into pre-pandemic busyness
we’ve less taste for it now
like lobsters who got a reprieve
we know the difference between tepid and roiling
today we saw tracks in sand
and the rest was a blur
unbalanced on the equinox
the black campground studded by flames
like my inner landscape
raging from the unkindness one son inflicts on the other
and my inability to create peace
in our little truck
in our extended family
in our town
no it seems we all want to tear each other apart
enjoy that crestfallen look on the other’s face
when we betray them with disdain
just like me
unable to see the 21-month-old I made cry to sleep
his bucket never able to be filled since
the payoff of sleep so not worth the damage done
sleep I reject every night now anyway
I’ve no idea how to make it better
only know to limit the pain I myself inflict
unbalanced today
I lashed out and liked it
calling him out on his selfishness
not caring that each word I spat would undoubtedly
have the opposite effect
driving stake after stake between us
with each word I said
there is a dark energy
in our world of Schaafs
we take
and there’s never enough
how can I keep this from going out in the world
how can I possibly shift it
we keep repeating the mistakes of the past
our humanity diminished each go around
the Dalai Lama says
be kind whenever possible
it is always possible
but I don’t know how to respond kindly to unkindness
in a way that won’t lead to more
I don’t know how to read two books at once
sometimes I doubt I have enough love to give
sometimes the relief of peace seems as elusive
as drinking from the shimmer
of the highway’s mirage
fleeing on foot
what still haunts Grace
is the families fleeing on foot
holding hands
the little children with their flimsy school backpacks
meant for holding little more than a snack
now carrying all that they might come out with
and more than that –
driving past them without stopping –
having no room, no seats
being one more in the long line of cars
passing up those without
another town’s children comfort us
Inspired by notes sent by Bradford K-8 students in Littleton to Louisville Middle School.
I only read the first forty pages or so
enough to be reminded
of our immense capacity
for compassion
(ocean-sized –
no, sun-sized)
here it is:
in the hearts dotting i’s
and the T-rex making the bed joke
in all the rainbows and hearts
the I know how you feel notes
and the I can’t imagine’s.
the children of another town
have written to us
marshaling all their worldly experience
to say
we’re so sorry
and
it’ll be alright
whether to know
two ways today I’m asked
if I want to know
what’s in the air we’re breathing
and the answer is
I don’t know
because we can’t stop bringing it into our bodies
and we aren’t the type to pick up and move
the numbers may tell us
what we don’t want to hear
but if we don’t know
at least we don’t know
Margaret says,
We’re doomed. And?
Sarah says,
Don’t give your worries swimming lessons.
I say,
When can I just breathe easy?
And, will my children ever?
the library, in the pandemic, post-fire
at the library:
free masks in lunch bags
a sign that says
offer a message of hope
(or something like that)
along with cut-out hearts,
markers, paperclips,
and a string strung with
love and good wishes.
all the books we’re looking for are here.
all 3 Cedar wants are in the Teen section.
on our way up I ask
if he’s been in there before.
once, when Owen was registering
for the Summer Reading Program
he says.
this, then, is a rite of passage.
we enter and it turns out
he knows just about all the kids at the computers.
yes, this is his zone now.
it’s not like the old days –
we hustle in and out
the water fountains are padlocked
the librarians are behind sneeze guards
and there are no more golf pencils and slips of paper
to jot down Dewey Decimals.
but it is like the old days, too –
a warm place where we take care of one another
and believe anything is possible.
the first heart on the line reads
thank you for welcoming us in
and giving us somewhere to be
(or something like that).
it’s still a home away from home,
which is especially welcome
when your home is no more.
instability rules
it may be their first move of several
she patiently explains –
the adjuster figures three months
of smoke remediation
but insurance will only approve
one month’s lodging at a time
so, by the time next month’s okayed
the Airbnb they’re in now
may be booked by someone else
and they’ll have to start all over
all over again
suddenly I see how these displaced children
won’t just be displaced once
families may be shuffled around
for months, or years
for those rebuilding
one thousand households
dwelling in uncertainty
instability rules
birthday season
we’re so glad you’re here
your spark makes our lives glow
and since you drew your first breath
things have never been the same
we’re saying this
with candles and cards
wrapping and ribbon
doughnuts and ice cream
Sharpie on the door jamb
marking your ascent into adulthood
friends and family stopping by
to throw the floodlight of their love
squarely in your grinning face
every year we mark the miracle
that you arrived at all
(and better yet – you are amazing
and better still – we still breathe together
now)
meeting Camilo the green-cheeked conure
his little golden body hesitated
then his small pale beak
gently probed my index knuckle
and, finding it firm, fleshed, human
(though likely not as kind as my son’s)
he bridged the gap
between my son and me
straddling his hand and mine
then stepped over
accepting me enough
to enter my sphere
what joy
to hold another life
sweet as pineapple rings
glowing like sunset
to be found worthy of trust
at least for that moment
in this world
split into us and other
with limitless capacity
for cruelty,
like my sons
this little bird reaches out to me
and holds my hand
entrusts himself to my care
allows us
a chance to be gentle with each other
to see life
from another eye-level
Owen helped me film my contributions to the Earth Stanzas project. You can view them on our YouTube channel.
unexpected generosity
I keep apologetically
thanking my son
for helping me,
for spending his time
on something important to me,
and he’s just puzzled
why I should be
this grateful
