bath time

water washes through
her hair, smelting gold and
silver down her back

casting shadows

under the winter
sun, when noon looks like sundown,
she makes tree poses.

ASMR

She's sweaty and warm
in my arms as we sit and
listen to street noise.

She just woke up from
a nightmare, so her little
mouth is cracked and dry.

It clicks in the most
pleasant way when she whispers,
"Kids is screamin.  Yeah."

when i wear a braid

tiny fingers touch
my neck. "wow, beautiful,
oh my word," she says.

fight or flight

"wow wow wow" she says
in a giant exhale. "oh
my word.  wonderful."

we are walking through
our neighborhood in the
dark for the first time,

and she is amazed.
i remember when i felt
that same vertigo,

the height and mass of
the city nearly sucked me
in as i looked up --

her father saw my
panic and said, "don't worry,
it's like a big hug."

she knows.

i am frustrated.
our cat has been howling for
forty five minutes.

not sweet little mews
but full-blown MROOOOOOWs that echo
down the hall, through the

baby monitor --
insanity in stereo sound.
a sippy cup drops

and spills.  our dog barks
and paces.  our other cat
chirps, demanding food.

the sonic clutter
is closing in around me.
then from far away,

a tiny voice says,
"bonjour mama. how are you?"
it's a warm blanket;

empathy that she
doesn't even understand.
"all better.  Thank you."

Two.

I have 2 more days 

with my baby.  2 more days

because the experts

decided seven-

hundred-thirty-one days is

long enough for her

to be so young.  And 

I would keep her this way,

milky-breathed and soft,

were it not for my

curiosity about

what she'll grow to be.

my gluten-intolerant friend taught me this.

guess what gang? when you're
super drunk, yo sangwitch don't
need no fuckin bread.

"Aww. Now that's too bad."

"Your boy is handsome."
"You kiddin me ?  He's gorgeous."
His pit is in tact

with clipped ears, something
I don't normally like, but
this wasn't a hack job.

"And how bout your girl ?"
he says, appraising Siouxsie.
She's a tangle of

leaves, stink, grass, and curls.
"I guess she's alright" I say.
He assesses me.

"Yeah, yeah, I feel ya.
But you ?  You're lookin pretty
damn sweet.  You married ?"

come here, let's do a quick pony

"you look so pretty
with your hair tied back" i say
in my mother's voice

"I didn't want to tell you," he said.

she lie there, so still,
with no twitch in her paws, nor
quiver in her lips

i've seen my own cats
dream -- it's full of chatters and
fluttering eye lids --

she had none of this,
because the cruel drop from
the bridge had killed her.

we went to a farm

"how are you, Turkey ?"
her voice is low and husky.
she stoops down next to

the ugly white bird
and traces her nail in the
seam where dirt meets grass.

she was standing in front of the stove

this living world of
cells will never again be
what it was just then

i'll see you when i see you

regrets are more than
just memories when you know
time isn't linear.

lean in

i watch him massage
her head from behind my phone
for a bit too long.

we don't laugh like that.
why is he taking so long ?
she was a WALK-IN.

when she finally
leaves, i slither back to my chair,
feeling dejected.

"she's so insincere,
i hate her,"  he whispers and
flicks hair from my neck.

in my dream, Jean couldn't catch a break.

"but honestly, who
would wear this thing ?" she's holding
the thong between

her first two fingers.
no one's listening, probably
because this is not

appropriate meal
time talk.  "Jean watched TV the whole
time she babysat

last night, Mom" the boy
declares.  the little fucker
just ratted her out.

"Raw is best, but wet will do"

She's our cat guru
and pretty much the only
person I'll allow

in our apartment
unchaperoned.  She commands
an authority

regarding felines
that affords her such blind trust.
Funnily enough,

she is also one
of the few people from whom
I'll accept any

criticism, though
it is wacky and poorly
delivered.  She's one

of those 'better with
animals than people' types
which only draws me

to her more.  I find
her fascinating, and seek
out her approval,

which will never come.
"JUMP !" she says.  I say "how high ?"
"That costs you extra,"

she says. "Oh, of course,"
I say, and neatly tuck the
cash into a card

with sunbathing frogs
on it.  "You really should get
this set of teeny

tiny spoons to use
when concocting the insane
herbal remedy

you give your sick cat
per my advice."  And I say,
"no problem. I'll have

them by Saturday."
And then, "I'd be lost without
your guidance, Phyllis."

She stares through me and
says, "I don't do this for you.
I do it for him."

the rental

it becomes like a
geode -- furniture, art, pets,
memories, books, time

crystallize to the
walls, compounding in value;
you can never leave.

for the sweaty girl

his face is buried

beneath my arm -- we're drunk

and being silly.

"it's like celery --

your southpole -- all musty and

earthy; umami."

yesterday, around 3:45p

HEY KID, YA BEAUTY
IS KILLIN ME !  LOOKIT YA.
said mister postman.

a skinned knee

flecked with the day's dirt,
it blooms and re-blooms with each
bend of her body

how to cope with a screaming toddler -- a 3-pronged protocol

strap the offender

into their stroller;  shirt and

shoes are optional.

pop in your earbuds

and crank your fav metal jam

up to eleven.

bask in the judgment 

of others as your child flails

and flops while you walk.

NEGOTIATING

WITH TERRORISTS IS NOT WHAT

WE DO. PERIOD.

IKR ?

in my dream last night

i met Ellen and Portia

at some event slash

gala slash party.

there was a pool and hors d'oeuvres
and we all wore suits

and we were hitting 

it off !  i mean, rappin bout

GMOs, being

vegan paleo,

like, Monsanto -- all that shit.

then Portia told me

that I have great hair

(kind of true) and I said, "oh,
I use [Shampoo X]"

and then Ellen says,
"what ?  you know that [Shampoo X]
is made of bison

spinal fluid, right ?"
or some crazy shit like that.
the needle falls off

the record.  SHIT STOPS.
Ellen puts her drink down and
goes, "you make me sick."

and i'm all tryin
to play it cool and say, "yeah
but look at my hair."

when it was just you and me

you bit my ankles,
i'd lock you out in the rain.
remember those days ?

have i told you lately ?

stepping out of a

taxi cab, from synthetic

frosty air into

thick humidity --

rich, oppressive, abusive -- 

I love you, New York.

dogs have a different god

bugs hang in the mist

spider webs heave with the breeze

and the light shines green;

we are in her church

walking down the aisle, crushing

gravel with our feet

he sleeps on my Zeppelin shirt

watch him curl his tail

and then watch someone tickle

only the black keys

all sharps, all pointy

my chain-link boy, my shadow

stay here a bit more.

summertime nap

her sweat has congealed
into the most delicious
aspic -- sweet, salty,

somehow buttery --
matting her straight hair into
wheaten finger waves

the truth about marriage

we may not be a
pair of great philosophers
but that don't stop us

from rehashing and
debating our fights like they're
Wittgenstein's poker.

a curbside conversation regarding real estate with my sensei

"my dear, now's the time."

his dog nods in agreement
and mine looks at me

like they're both really
onto something.  the train is
pounding above us

and my head and heart
along with it.  he's talking
about decisions

and of course mistakes.
is he standing too close to
the road ? or am i ?

Just a conversation

"So, how old is your

daughter again ?  All around

the neighborhood I'm

seeing big people 

with their little people." She

cups her hands around

some invisible

small thing.  "They stand so straight and

tall.  They walk so well.

It's such a lovely

little image.  From a distance."

Fran has no children.

whoa.

"imagine all the
people on Earth doing what
we're doing right now."

i'm sixteen and want
to sound deep and romantic
while we break for air.

"i stopped believing
that when i was 6," he says.
"i knew no one else

was booby trapping
their sister's Barbie Dream House
the same way i was."

when it rains

the rain advanced from

pitter patter to pounding

and hiding from it

became the only

option. beneath the awning

we stood shivering,

waiting for the clouds

to part, and the skies to make

nice.  they never did.

every night

to not sleep in fear;
to not dream of horrors like
electrocution,

my teeth crumbling out,
or my dog without eyelids.
to wake up rested.

meow meow (or, a 200 $ trip to the vet)

thank you, dear lady,
for the small token you left
for us yesterday.

this gift, this treasure,
this perfect specimen is
truly a marvel,

and rinsing the blood
varnish off of it first was
certainly worth it.

PSA

I did it!  30 poems in 30 days (well, close enough) for Poetry Month -- all about our daughter.  A snapshot of sorts.  Thanks to everyone who read and encouraged, especially my husband and sister.  It feels good to be back in the saddle.  

yesterday, approximately 4:10 PM

a sandy snail has
taken up residence in
the curve of her lip,

the delicate trough
made by an angel's finger
moments before birth.

she hasn't noticed.
her concern lies solely with
the playground's bounty:

a collection of
broken toys, sticks, and pebbles,
so full of promise

that she hasn't time
for neatness, this feral child,
this urchin of mine.

sucker

the moist morning air

turned her cherry lollipop

into flypaper

now peppered with dust,

fragments of leaves, curly hairs,

and other such filth

she holds it like a

scepter, parting the masses

on our holy stroll

lesson learned

fun is zero sum,
he says.  last night was great, so
today's gotta suck.

mothers and daughters

the words fall out of
my mouth, rocks plopping heavy
into dark water.

they sink deeper and
and deeper, but we know they're
below the surface,

even when it's still.
she will never say these things
to me, i'm perfect.

but this is a wish,
not a promise.  someday the
tape will play again,

the rocks will plop and
the water will ripple, and
i'll have to listen.

pretend

Her hand creeps through the
window, a starfish inching
along the remains

of a sunken ship.
From behind the wall, I hear
her chitter-chatter,

melodic and hushed,

as she drifts off deeper and
deeper into play.

feed me seymour

there are two types of
toddler hunger -- that for food
and that for crackers

harmonica

with each draw and blow

her belly heaves -- she sways with
her music and smiles.

'where Mama earring ?'

she gingerly taps
my ear with a touch so soft
it makes my hair stand

camel on the ceiling (or what we say, part 2)

Big Wing, little wing.
What begins with wing ?
Chicken wing on a string,
wing, wing, wing.

Fyrn says, (a near-perfect paraphrase)

"last night I was so
sad ... so sad for no reason.
then I thought of her --

that smile and those eyes --
and for a few sweet moments
I was filled with joy."

lest she stirs

the giant sleeps in
a booby-trapped lair; one false move --
the stub of a toe

the drop of a pin
the creak of a loose floor board --
and i'm good as dead.

a thousand deaths

her finger unfurls
to a point, and she coyly
sings 'mama' -- at last.

'wow, she's quite a talker.'

"COCK COCK COCK !" she screams
pointing to the clock in the
nail salon. "COCK. COCK."

we welcome spring

her hair flicks forward

with the breeze and the bob of 

her head as she swings

good game, high five.

the biting game is

where i nibble your arm and

you shriek with delight

she always wakes up in a sweat

a dream, any dream,
is so stunningly vivid --
colors, sounds, shapes, words

we all need a break

the perfect day she
had without me is the thought
that sings me to sleep.

when she concentrates

a silver string of

saliva unravels from

her lip gently as

a spider descends

or silken gossemer pulls

or icicle melts

ancient grains

golden, flaxen, wheat --
whatever we call that hair
of yours, it's lovely.

when they come from a baby

kisses start with a

'mmmmm!' and usually end 

with an open mouth

what we say

i love you when you're happy,
and i love you when you're sad;
i love you when you're smiling,
and i love you when you're mad.

it still aches

a certain silence
creeps in between blinks; growing
like ink drip drip drip

dripping on muslin.
the sound of your cry fades in
and out, but my heart ...

te chatouilles

a single green blade
plucked from the ground and tickled
sous le bout du nez

time machine

today we had a

fleeting minute during which

we both forgot you.

he bit his candy

in half, and I took it with my

teeth --  that's when it was.

when i took the mint, 

our lips met, and i slipped just a

little bit of tongue

the way i used to

ten years ago with sweet tarts,

waiting for the train.

aujourd'hui

today my big girl

had her first big fall; somehow

i handled it well.

these are just the facts.

you watch her tear-stained

blotchy face and look at me

like i'm some lost cause.

'big mistake,' you think.

'how could she?'  you think, and then

you excuse yourself.

and i'm left alone

with my child for a moment

while you duck away.

i want you to know

that in that moment -- when you

thought i was annoyed,

tired, and beaten,

i was loving her more than

i've ever liked you.

little lady

chubby little hands
clap with glee at my expense
-- the child tyrant reigns.

little thrills

it's the little thrills
that this bird likes.  balancing
on one leg in socks.

the split seconds of
weightlessness after she's been
tossed up from my hands.

that moment of pure,
white fear that splashes across
my face when she chokes --

how she laughs and laughs
after i've smacked her back twice,
while i'm left breathless.

that sound you make when you're happy

it's somewhere between
excited chitter chatter
and 'tick-a tick-a'.

powerful magic

the angels gave us

a baby.  a good baby,

a quiet baby.

when she sighed, we sighed,

and all was right because we 

now knew perfection.

but the goblin king

stole her, and left us with you

in the baby's stead.

a heathen, wild with

laughter and song,  breath sweeter
than opium, and

eyes the color of
nebulae, striking me down
with only a blink.

chores.

there is no beauty
in the grit that's collected
on our windows

from rain and neglect.
the sun shining through it is
just a fucking nag.