Quotidian. // may 2018

45pomes for our christopher robin
written in the spring in which he turned forty five with some fotos

 

1. Wishing for a storm to roll in
the night against my palms
Our son played through his impatience today his

hands backlit like jellyfish.
He sounded wonderful.
Two afternoons as of late
One with you working on science fair

and me helping with piano
One with me helping on science fair

and you working on piano
There were maybe some dishes done.
There is nothing better.
Our daughter is incandescent -

with rage or with laughter.
She glows.
All of us curled together in bed or on the sofa.

or just three.

or just two.
Loud and loud cascading down the stairs
Up and down.

and down and up.

Through the house.
Sometimes I want to run.
Mostly I want to stay.

2.
Four fortune cookies,
Three fortunes
Such unevenness about it -
a perfection
One dropped and shattered
nesbel called the five second rule
I said nope,
never in an airport
Your children’s weights lean on me
Two heads,
One lolling in sleep
One caught in song.

3.
Recently, and specifically,
Reminded about
Muscles
I remember I adore them
sternocleidomastoid, trapezius
Want to follow them
Like a Braille river
Down the body
glutimus maximus, sartorial
Every dip, every trench,
Every bend and sway
Rippled, taut
Deltoid,
Incantations.

4.
timepeace
peacetime
Peaceful times
one wishes for it
Instead of this turbulence
Uncertainty
doubt
What this is
Though
Certainly
Is a peaceful place
peaceplace.

5
forty five is a ridiculous
amount of poems
Hard to count
four dozen apples
Minus three.
still.
It does not begin to
Come close to how
Much
You
Are
Loved.

6.
Kisses of snow.
When I want
Decades at least.

7.

One night, a well of insomnia

not unhappily

Counting your breaths

Our children snivelsnort javelinas

Glad at your side.

 

my fingers pressed on the Braille of a cheaply done stucco wall.

 

Amidst the slatted half dark,

I startle from half sleep, amazed

How brave were we

Placing ourselves in the winds

All those places that did not know us

 

That was another then.

This now is late and also early

I count my breaths

the shapes of my people

Count, breath. Count, breath.

8.
There are sips sips sips
of rain in the air
The barest of breaths
and a dark rolling sky.
A rolling boil of wind.
bare feet on sharp gravel
The faint smell, hitched gasp,
of water on desert dirt.

9.

nessabel
fierce.
Wonderful.
Delight.

 

10.
Each day
try to hold them in my arms
monkeys on a tree
Because we still can
because they still do.

11.
holding a cup -
This one red, this one Blue-
In the morning
Filled with delicious hot brew
a most favorite thing.

12.
Can one have too many beautiful ceramic stuff?
All with stories of some sort
I think not.

13.
We have a
disaster dog
‘Tis true
no one would pick him if given all the details; heck, any of the details.
this morn-
Head on Nanu’s stomach
As she stretches.
His fondness and clumsy
care of us all
a kind, good boy behind
those yellow brown eyes.

14.

we share this
you and I.
Love of this too dry earth.

15.

the blue as it peeks

over the corner of our house
Above the wall
the courtyard
the cherry tree,

the east as the dawn comes through.

Held in palms

Laced with shouts,

tears and glee.

16.

 Awake
Early or late
Steps into the kitchen
Light heft if the kettle
Water
The click of on
mug chosen
Usually red, white stained belly
A tea bag, leaves
Boiling water
Five to seven minutes doing other stuff, putzing around
Milk
Hands around smooth ceramic
A sip.

17.

Pine needles
Needles under my fingers
staccato stucco wall
Smooth plane of our long adored and well used table
rough wood of the gate
Heat of the flagstones, rock and metal
rough bark, canyoned ristra
even weight of the cups, empty or full.


18.

silvansol
strong.
funny.
fabulous.

 

19.

Hello old friend
So nice to have you curled into me
My arm your pillow
So nice to have your body
It’s even and uneven breaths
Beside me
a gift
a gift
a gift.

20.

We used to be old hats
At traveling afar
but then again
We weren’t four.

21.
There is such expected difficulty

in the musts:
waking, dressing, feeding, guiding,

feeding, loving, sleeping, waking, schooling, feeding

and the chosen:
the rounds, gerbilwheel,

meltingmap of practices and visits and

lessons and such.

in all, such unexpected joy.

22. 
sometimes there is a snuffaluffpigboy in my bed.
sometimes a fierytwistyjavelina.
often just a me.
sometimes a you.

23. 
We live in an oasis made around us -
house, gardens, stories.
Luck and more luck.
Made by other hands.

The inside of the oasis is all us:
Color, music, laughter, stories, light.
Our fingerprints on each page
and tune and song.

24.
Our second day of november altar
is too full.
I wish they sat at our table
Each and every one.

25.
With pale wood perhaps I think I can see the light that made the tree that made the place where we sit and feast and talk and listen to squabbling and laughing and being.

26

Soli at rest
Soli at play
whistling, tapping, yelling, singing, laughing
Laughing
Soli run run
Run run running

27.
All the these snapshots taken
Framed, technicolored
Squares of mere moments
of this life
This loud raucous busy
spacious danceful quotidian
kaleidoscope of a
flesh and bone and bloodsinew,
snot and laughter life.

28.

In the cacauphony of the world
You are always my home.
 

29.

There is never enough dancing.
Dancing more dancing


30.
There are pastels and watercolors and pencil sketches on the walls.
Piles of paper, puppets, blocks and cars and planes and books.
Ah my darling, so many books.
Bikes and balls and skis and mittens. 
Mishmash of fabric, uniforms, tutus, swords and helmets.
Zombies, deadgirls, superheroes, a witch cape a wizard cape a dragon sans cape.
Stack of plates, pyramids of cups
Somewhere there is our Solar system made of paper and three knitted rainbow potholders.
A kaiju of immense proportions.
Art and more art, all artists we have taken tea with, or wanted to
Poetry. Posters. Clippings of missed presidents and protests.
A few remnants of a hundred journeys.
We could do without it all.
This beautiful cluttered chaos.
It is comfort beyond comfort. We could
Walk free and sit with the sky.
and yes, my darlings,
the nest is good.

31.
For the kingdom of Lovenia
Let us stitch a flag
Made of nightly lullabies
black bird songs in Black good nights
fullmooncrepes and castiron frittata
Conversation under robust cherry trees.
rock strewn hillside, rough golden walls.
Two small humans, spinning tops.
Let us fly this flag into the blue, Blue, Blue
Let us sit on this cherished earth with Orion as guide.
Let us think on flags
And all the stitches it takes to build anykind of life, the stitches it takes to build this one.

32.
I will build a tower of these books of mine
these pages
Lock you up until you sleep the sleep

of a thousand days
Wake sparkling.
rescue you.
After the arugula is taken from the garden.

We will build a staircase
that goes up and down.
All ways.

33.
Both of the wee beasties
Have a twinkle in their eye
That must be yours
An irreverence, a mischief
A penchant for laughter that
Could be ours, yes.
A bounce bounce bounce of feelings-
As if the trampoline was merely figurative
Instead of daily.
Those are probably me
But that twinkle.
You and you and you.

34.
It seems improbable
Yet forever
That we are in the house
of my childhood
One of our many childhoods
Held together by the most generous
And giving of them all
You and I
So lucky in our cast of
Parents and people
In the generous, loving, open hearts
We sprouted from
The roots, the rocks, the sandy soil
The cast of characters.
It is hard to make their bookcase
Of stories, voices, heartache, triumph
Real for our two.
Give flesh to their shadow.
So I must be content
With knowing they are here
Within us.
DNA ladder twining, climbing.
Cells and sinews made again.

35.
The walk this morning
with two bubbling enchanting beasties
I soaked it in, their consistent, but not constant, sweetness.
And who would want that.
I want instead- this that we have-
Runningwords on the new sidewalk, a book’s characters, the river water, the teahouse yard, the art like fern fronds,
Remember the peacock mama, the footsteps painted on the ground, the drips of wisteria, the spurts of running.
Two enchanting bubbling beasties on their way to school.
Walking home, soaking in your voice as the sun peeked through such welcome soft clouds.
New leaves. The bridge, sun on my face. Such a softness to the day.
A sweetness.
The tendrils of mist curling from the dark road tonight,
everything celebrating the touch of rain.

36.
I want to give you a big stone head
To add to our big metal head,
And stone plinth-
For your birthday
Hell, two stone heads.
One for the entrance to Lovenia
Welcome all who enter here
One for the egress
Y’all come back now
Ya hear?

37.
I love you the sky.
I love you all the talk over countless pillows and bedtime shadows
I love you at the top of a Brooklyn apt wearing socks and an umbrella.
I love you our hikes over all sorts of quilted terrain.

I love you laughter that won’t stop

and rhyming games that go on for many states
I love you our mountains.

I love you strong. All the day.

38.
you are an extraordinary father.
full stop.

39.
a sweetmoment standing at our counter
grateful. so glad.
alone but knowing where you three sit,
Life swirling around.
lilacwind pouring in, three different purples.
the cherry and crabapple blossoms, the plums.
poppies, iris.  buds of peonies and roses.
the late leaves of the trumpet vine.
we are surrounded by blooms my love.

40.

our girl, la nessa

simmering spectacular stew

sparks of sizzle and sassafras

sensational, this one.

Dancing, shimmering,

Feet planted, wings spread.

 

41.

days of music

a singing boy, a humming girl.

melodies as loud as they can be

through the windtunnel of a windows open car.

dance parties, more dance parties.

violin, piano, a guest who plays

the songs of my grandparents.

tonight drums, cowbells, xylophone

and just, right now

my spring mix spinning

canting emotions and grins, sighs

this book put

on pages.

 

42.
I swear
the birds pre-dawn this spring
chant,
bode bodeboy, tweet tweet.
at least one of them -
separate from the
haunted caterwaul of coyotes
the silent confidence of the
rabbits, raccoon, deer (oh dear) -
the morning chorus
of birds, little brown ones and
otherwise,
is one of my favorite things about
being in the world.


43.
whirligig, tempest,
duststorm, rain.
we are these.
sundrenched corner
with bees abuzz in the plum tree.
that too.

44.
mothers, grandmothers
this mama.
lives grown and quilted
fathers, grandfathers
tias y tios
cousins.
sister, sister, brothers.
the blood we’re given
the blood we chose.

All we are given
& all we give.

44.
meals cooked
juntos,
Eaten together,
at our table or someone else’s.
In our kitchens -
(or the one in Pipa, just up
from the water altar to
Iemanja- bedecked in garlands and
the tipsytrails of candles)
Here. A pot of beans.
Rice. Spinach. Eggs. Chile.
Hands on a knife cutting carrots, onions, apples.
the lifetimes of chopping,
hands who have planted and weeded and picked.
Hands - in the house next door, or a generation ago.
our parents and abuelos, amigos y amigas.
All who make food.
Good food.
wee hands that help now.
Hands we teach.


45.
On the eve of our boy turning
seven (seven!),
Our girl nine and a half,
you two score and five,
I gather these wishes.
That this core, this good, this
 breath of beauty
we keep.
That this space,
This time,
This golden place
We know as good.
That this us,
We carry.
Deep down blue in our pockets,
deep down sky, deep roots.
Deep true in our
teacolored happyhearts.