Thursday, June 30, 2011

Poems, or the muck rattling around in my brain cave

Because maybe
what I need
is to purge my inner thoughts and feelings and all that

Because maybe
even though life is beautiful
sometimes there are things in it that aren’t.
like being a child of divorce,
and rather unexpectedly
at the age of 36.
Wondering if I’m as selfish as my
because I already know I’m like him
in some less-than-flattering ways
and I don’t
to be.
And maybe it's more fair to say,
that he is kind and good-hearted,
but right now,
it's the selfish that really
stands out.

And maybe sometimes
it makes me too sad even to cry
if I think about my mother
at her age.
She should have been widowed, not abandoned.
of course
I don’t mean to say
that I would prefer my father had died,
It would have been sad in very different ways.
And he has still left her.
Left all of us.
Because he’s not planning to come back
from California.
Who could blame him?
(Well, besides my sister and I?)

I am angry at him
and I am angry
and I am ANGRY!!!!!!!
The font doesn’t grow large or red enough for me to express the depth and breadth and inexplicable fieriness of my anger.
could have stayed
should have left sooner
would not have made her happy if he had stayed, anyway...
But she was happy.
She is content and sure and grace-filled.
She didn’t need him, ever
and maybe that’s why...
He wasn’t able to stay.


Twin Fever

I am obsessed with
immersed in
riveted by—
the videos of my boys as toddlers.
I lose myself for long chunks of minutes
inside these scenes from my past.
I listen to myself narrate the video,
giggling at their antics,
(myself in stereo:
laughing then, laughing now),
the love I felt for them palpable,
visible in their shining dark eyes.
The love is still here, of course,
but it’s easier to gush over toddlers than tweeners.
They fight it far less.
Watching their first steps,
their first words,
their first, toddling wrestling match...
I want to live inside those moments,
indeed, it feels like time travel.
I want to bury my face in the soft skin between chubby cheeks and tender necks.
I want to lift them onto my hips,
two at a time, like I did then.
Ten years have passed in the blink of an eye;
those just-walking babies will be 11 next week.
Those 4-pound preemies are now each 5’ 1” tall.
They are smart and funny and are
turn into People.
It astounds me.
They astound me.
Those soft little cheeks and giggles and rounded words.
They are everything.


A seagull stole my mango yesterday
From the deck of my sailboat
as we rocked in the salty air.

I leapt to the dock
and chased him down.

I got my mango back.
--for Captain Chrissy


Leesa said...

I really liked the first poem. It was incredibly sad, but it communicated your thoughts well.

Olga Boingo said...

I EFFING LOVE YOU. That made me cry. Nice one, Lisa!