Turning

It is not the way the robin with its bright yellow breast

Perches on my mailbox

Like an honored guest

It is not the way the worm with a luxurious stretch

Crawls out from a tuft

Of resurrected grass

It is not the beginnings of tulips

Or the softening of the ground

Or the greening of the path to the river

It is not the way the buds on the trees tease me

With their promise

Of the soon-ness of newness

Rather it is the wind

That blows between the gaps

Of the almost blooming branches

And asks if I will remember

The structure of emptiness,

The shelter of barrenness,

Once spring’s fecundity

Overtakes my senses

Enough

Celebrating Mother's Day and the upcoming Listen to Your Mother show by re-posting some of my motherhood-themed poems this week...

My sixteen-year-old boy arrived at the hospital at 6:30
that Saturday morning to sit with me.
He sat between the window and my bed, his long fingers
curled around my own IV-taped hand.
And he was beautiful,
his lanky body bent over my bed, partially
shadowed by the window-framed sun.

He had gotten up so early just so he could sit with me
before his track and field meeting at school,
but I couldn’t move my morphine-heavy
eyes and lips to talk to him.
It seemed like I should say so much,
but I could only manage a few I-love-yous and
you-don’t-have-to-stays. But he did.

I kept drifting out and tripping up in my own
bad dreams and staples and tubes. I couldn’t
quite hold myself there with him. I kept wandering,
two nights back, to my mumbling pre-surgery prayers.
And I realized I could have done better.
Instead of my weak now-and-at-the-hour-of-our-deaths
and acts of contrition, I should have just said,

Look Lord, Here Lord, I made this boy.
And that would have been enough.

Waters

Celebrating Mother's Day and the upcoming Listen to Your Mother show by re-posting some of my motherhood-themed poems this week...

I wanted to say
When I saw
Your blue eyes brim
That the waters
That flood so fast
And rush past your lashes
Are the same ones
That spill from mine
That they come
From the same stream
Of love and regret
Of grasp and release
Of swell and stab
Are the same tides
Of contracting and pushing
Of me and other
That clean
And then roil
The bonds
Between child
And mother

Motherhood on My Mind

As I prepare for the Listen to Your Mother Spokane dress rehearsal tonight, and look forward to spending Mother's Day 2014 with my mom (for the first time in 10 years!) and all three of my sons, I definitely have Motherhood on my mind.  I think this week on the blog I will re-share some of my motherhood-related poems from the past. Let's start with this one:

Origins

My earliest world is
One of shapes and feelings
An awareness that
Everything in that little
Apartment is everything

Daddy is working late
Something called swing shift
I am eating chicken pot pie
And following her movements
With my young eyes

She is busy
I think she is folding
Laundry and carrying
Inside her what will
Be my little brother

She is always somewhere
Within reach
There is a cord that ties
I am for her
And she is for me

Together 
We are 
Complete

Incised Moon (NaPoWriMo Day 25)

Incised moon

Presents herself

In pieces

And knows

Her power

Must be
Periodic.

She is mindful

Of her potential

To pull
That which
The Earth

Cannot hold.

Remembering that

Two bodies

So attracted

To one another

Will bulge and break

The waters

If they are not

Careful,

She allows

The fullness 

Of her faculties

Only twice

In a cycle

And exerts

The most influence

When she reveals

Herself

As Nothing

Or as

All.

Incised moon

Knows that

The sands

Cannot withstand

Constant

Crashing, 

So she reigns

Over the

In-between times

By portioning

Herself

Into halves

And quarters

And

Sleek,
Silent, 

Crescents.

***

It is Day 25 of NaPoWriMo!  Having just completed a fortnight of constant paper grading, I remain behind.

All week, I have been playing with NaPoWriMo's Day 18 prompt, and finally got something finished today. I hope to tackle today's prompt in a more timely fashion.

Personal Growth

The discovery

that the cute boy I knew in

high school--who  flirted

with me just so he

could try to talk me into

writing his research

paper--is now a 

bald man, prompts the fifteen-year
old in me to smile

and the grown-up me
to fall over laughing on
my middle-aged ass.

***

I still have some catching up to do, but just in case I can't, I will point out that each stanza in this poem is in haiku form, so in a way, I wrote five poems today, right?  

Today's NaPoWriMo facebook prompt was to write a poem about an old flame. Since I've been married to the same man since I was 19, I don't exactly have a list of old flames, so this is what came to mind instead.
Image from www.popsci.com

Foundations (NaPoWriMo Day 18)

Put your head on the desk

and stop raising your hand

No one likes a girl

who shows

how much

she knows

The worst thing that you can do

is disappoint the grownups

Corn is a vegetable

Middle school boys will ask you to dance

Low fat cupcakes will make you skinny

A smart girl like you should major in business

Don’t worry your body

will naturally go into labor

on its own

You can prevent most problems

by worrying about them

before they happen

You will never be the kind of mother

who bribes her son with hotwheels

to get him to shut up

while you shop

If there is a hole

don’t ask questions

just fill it

If your husband is unhappy

that the junk drawer is disorganized

you should apologize

You will always need

these anti-depressants

Once you tell a story

about yourself

it becomes the truth

and you have to believe it

***

I'm still playing catch-up.  Though it's day 18, I've used NaPoWriMo's day 16 prompt: write a 10-line poem that is all lies.  I did 10 stanzas instead of 10 lines, but stuck with the lying.