Posts Tagged ‘child


so adorable

tots at the clinic:
free-ranging charmers spread their
sweet smiles and fresh germs


Teacher Becomes The Student

side by side tandem
bike, wide quiet street, all things
equal; dependent
on her special needs daughter,
mom finds the tables are turned.



I’m taking the bus home this afternoon and I want you to be there early.
No, seriously. There’s no reason you can’t be there at least by 2:30.
So, when the big hand starts creeping around you need to just drop
Whatever you’re working on and drive down to the bus stop.
I look stupid if I’m standing there long after the bus
Has left. Get there early, please, so we don’t have the same kind of fuss
As yesterday. Of course, we might get enough people to practice; that’d be great
Because we have a tournament tomorrow. So I might be too late
For the bus. And if it’s sunny then I may just walk
Up the hill anyway. If I see Justine, I need to grab her because we need to talk
About the party this weekend. I had such a good time Saturday when I went to John Wu’s.
I think this is another party for someone’s birthday. I don’t remember whose
And, of course, their birthday has already passed.
But who is it? I’ll ask Justine. Maybe someone in our English class.
But probably I’ll be on the bus. So please be there on time. I hate looking like the last mangey pup
In the basket who nobody wants. And if I’m not there, you can just drive out to school and pick me up.


Scrooge Was Right After All

I’ll keep Christmas in my way and let you keep it in yours.
Not for me the jostle of crowds, the tinnily amplified renditions of carols in the malls;
Mothers- patience nearly exhausted- tucking frazzled hair behind one ear
As she herds children ahead of her, children bawling and bleating for toys, for treats, for a nap, for one more ride on the mechanical horse and then they promise to be good;
Drivers, once mostly fathers but now mothers too, neck stiff and eyes straining as they pilot the car and its sleeping passengers through rain or snow and darkness and endless hours on the highways and byways, tossing a couple quarters into the jar for a cup of coffee, a chocolate chip cookie, a chance to stretch road-numbed legs;
The clatter and clink of silverware and china at brunch, starched white tablecloths quickly ruined by a mimosa, a Bloody Mary, or an elbow ill-placed in the cup of much needed Irish Coffee;
Mistletoe hanging above Abe Lincoln on Main Street- am I imagining having seen it? How appropriate the old scholar should get the affection now he so often vainly craved when alive;
Hawkish east wind swooping down reminds me of the damage time has done to my body- the twisted ankle I thought was healed, once frostbitten toes, calcification and arthritis developing between shoulder and neck- and that I’m much too old on the outside to wait to shower acclaim on Santa when he appears at the end of the parade;
Give me instead a Snuggie’s warmth and a hot mug of coffee to wrap in my chilled hands;
Her tongue poking out at one corner of her mouth, a child struggles to turn felt, Elmer’s glue and a tomato soup can into an attractive present;
Mapley, pineappley hiss and pop of the ham in the oven beside the baking potatoes and the yams;
A cyclical rainbow of primary and secondary colors transforming the old aluminim tree in the corner from a misshapen agglutination of foil to sparkling centerpiece in a child’s half-remembered Christmas dreams;
And the thrumming joy of the cat getting stoned on the catnip infused scratching post we bought to save the loveseat.


It Tastes Like Progress

I remember tomatoes-
some of them lumpy-
Redly ripe, still warm from the sun.
Dirt crunching in my teeth because I managed a lick before
My mother whisked it away, into the house to wash it.
I grabbed another one and plunged my teeth into it;
The pulpy sweetness filling my mouth,
The tiny firm seeds between my teeth with the dirt;
I was eating summer.
Drizzly April day, I get tomatoes from Safeway.
Hothouse tomatoes: they’re cool and very clean,
Smooth, unblemished like Jessica’s skin after ProActiv.
The inside is pink, almost mealy;
The seeds nearly absent.
When I bite into it, it tastes like progress.