One Friday
a whole day gone and the best things I’ve done
are give away plastic eggs and Christmas coffee
listen to The Mighty Dnieper and Willie Clancy
wash dishes and reheat lasagna
walk my mom’s and sister’s dogs
and snuggle with my family while A Monster Calls
it’s enough
absence limits
while on the Zoom
I see him through the window
pouting
elbows right angles
palms pushing the sky
after the laptop snaps shut
he bursts in
bellowing his high-pitched objections
until I wrap my arm around him
ruffle his hair
remind him how much he means
ask how I can help
and
what does he need?
then he relents
admits he needs nothing
I just was absent too long
that toddler abides
who insistently demanded
Mommy…
anytime I pressed the rectangle of phone
to my curlicue of ear
while he tried to drown out the sounds
of any other needs
to reserve some space
for whatever might bubble up
between his shoulder blades
oh he needs something alright
just like me
This is in response to a prompt from Radha Marcum’s workshop Write Your Life in Poetry offered by the Boulder Public Library.
Red-naped Sapsuckers, Early July
you can’t help but hear them
the insatiable insistent peeping
hungry beaks open and shut
almost as fast as hummingbird wings
inside a perfectly round O
perforating smooth beige aspen bark
with binoculars you can peek inside
and after a few seconds of dark blank staring
a small striped head and desperate beak
pop up into view
like the start of a puppet show
now and then she collapses
then eventually works her way
eye-level with her window on the world again
her pleas the same tempo and volume
wherever she is
the dogged parents fly in and out
red crests and napes brilliant
against backlit aspen emerald green
on approach they issue a rough nasal call
swoop in, load the mouths
take a deep breath
look out toward their next dead tree to loot
then fly off with great up-and-down flap-glides
it gets easier
I want to tell them
you should talk to the hairy woodpeckers
just up the road
their handsome son just joined them
out in the trees
and he calmly plink-calls them
now and then while they hunt together
and enjoy each other’s company
while sometimes just listening
to the quiet ruffle of wind
through needles and feathers
but the ragged sapsuckers don’t have time
to even listen to our encouragement –
the little mouths never stop begging
and the hole is never filled
eclipse on a night with no moon
we scaled the peak to watch her rise
but found a bank of clouds
draped over the eastern foothills
chilled and sleepy
we descended home
sure we would see her on the way
but the sky stayed a blank pink
then blue then grey
marked by a star a moth a bat
we lit our sparklers instead
scrawled our hopes across
night’s blank page
signed ephemeral pledges in smoke
still she didn’t wink at us
after the boys surrendered to sleep
I set a timer to check on her
but the clouds had swung round to the south
and the only evidence that she was up
was the thin silver tracery
around each small cloud
maybe some nights
she doesn’t want to be seen
just wants to hide in her own corner of sky
and be nothing to nobody
just reflect on her time warmed by Sol’s rays
dream her own quiet icicle-mint dreams
not worry about those worrying about her
just slip away in the dark
no matter who might be wistfully watching
after the trifecta
after all these days weeks months years
we still genuinely like each other
(harder to achieve than loving)
for this and all the other joys
that have come along with
these three main lights in my life
may I always feel grateful and blessed
even in dark hours
mine or theirs or ours
you’d never give up on me
he says
no, I wouldn’t
I agree
may it always be so
even when the road’s nearly washed out
and the lightning’s going sideways
and the rain’s a perpendicular blur
there’s always the distinct possibility
we’re headed straight toward rainbow
Double-digit Cedar
he wants a world
where all the pieces fit
where positive and negative balance
and everything adds up
but he also does his best
to quadruple his luck
dousing himself at the spring
he surrounds himself
with cute and fuzzy
and finds new ways
to leap off windowsills
and hammock extremely
and he finds a way into
any mud puddle out there
his sweetness matches his size
and although he’s getting closer
to eye-level every day
he still comes and finds me at the spruce
still joins me under the canopy of sky
still shares his stuffy wealth with me
still is my little son
with the extra big heart
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
solstice gift
our boys passed the day
harmoniously
lightening all
within their spheres
COVID haircuts
my boys bow their heads
and trust me with the scissors
like so many other bits of parenting
I’ve never done this before
at the first bite of shear against hair
Cedar squeals
my knitting scissors, the sharpest we have,
tug his locks as they slice
he fidgets and questions –
things he wouldn’t do with the barber –
and when the tips of the blades
nip him above the ear
we both know this cut is over
even with no blood drawn
I’m slightly more practiced for Owen
(the reverse of our usual pattern)
I know to use my left hand
as a guard against maiming
only cut my own flesh this time
and say nothing of the small red thread
I start with his bangs
the most critical, bothersome part
in case this session is also abruptly ended
by my carelessness
he is patient
I am sloppy
but manage to at least
give him back his sight
in the end he looks younger –
the opposite of a skilled cut –
but before bed after shower
washed, brushed, and slicked to the side
he looks presentable
says something about liking it short
as always
I bow to my children next
thankful for the latest new thing
they’ve allowed me to learn
