The Very Manly Musings

I haven't written anything in forever. My mind is a colander. My thoughts run wild like prison escapees.     This summer I read some of the things I wrote in college (creative writing major w/emphasis in poetry). I missed it sort of. Not so much that I missed being good at something, but missed the ability to express myself so directly, quickly, minimally. So I planned on writing a poem everyday, regardless of how awful it was.

I have written 5. Here they are, the very manly musings of this well intentioned teacher, but slightly poorer executor.

June, 23^rd 2012

Yes, babygirl

You see through me.

And I get you.

Eyes blue, how writers describe streams,

how editors airbrush skies.

They break me already,

how hands cling to a ledge

finally give up

and fall,

you cause that moment after,

the fainting freeness,

accepting what

is about to come.

You, with those blue eyes,

already seeing the disappointments within me.

June, 25^th 2012

The falls, the knocking over,

the trips.

A bruise blooms, spreads

a thin oil spill across your brow.

A wail, tears simmer.

My own heart yanking within me.

As if I am being lifted

a heavy boon attached drawing me up,

my body flacid and sprawled under the weight.

September 8^th, 2012

She with

the tender nostirls,

the half brown eye

rose brushed cheeks.

Slinder fingers skating

across the keyboard.

Shoulders tense and annoyed.

Her mind sees 1's, 0's, patterns,

repetition. The feverish

gears finding the order. Every

hair numbered.

She is the every hair numbered--

by her slender fingers,

which skate across the keyboard

prepping for another day.

September 11^th, 2012

It is September the eleventh.

My daughter is not 1.

She, paws at her sippy cup,

flails it around like burning stone,

grasp, gropes, flings, releases,

over and over again.

I think about the names of those who died.

How I thought, if I could just remember

one or two of them? If I could remember one

face, of one beloved one that wasn't mine

then maybe that would say something...

about humanity?

I search, I flail the filing cabinent,

fingers dash through blank

index cards, memories sort

as if magic dispenses them,

dance to an imaginary baton.

But there is nothing,

just the sound of the flung sippy cup.

The ticker of daily events under

Kathy Lee's face.

A flash of a smoldering

heap of metal,

like a kindling pile of pine,

smothered quickly

under one's foot.

September 12^th 2012

Lumber. Stomp.

That is what I did today.

Through a field of molasses

wearing lead boots.

My eyes puffy, squinty,

as if someone were kicking

from behind.

My heart tight,

a red paper origami,

turn, fold, crease--

smaller with each

nimble thumb stroke.

And then a student laughed,

his eyes danced, clear,

bright. Stones reflecting

in shallow pools.

Reverberation,

like the laugh of my own babe.

Screetching, barreling,

my feet plodding quickly

in the chase.

Her own reflecting stones

glance over her shoulder.

A smile curls, a squeal unfolds

arches, dances, springs upwards.

I see it. The yellow laugh, the orange

giggle, the fushia plum of joy.

Awaking the folded heart paper,

a time lapse warming,

the folds becoming pedals--

my heart into a bloom.