Crop circles

On the day he was

born, I found the loveliest

spiral on his back

A beautiful

pattern of blond hair hidden

beneath his clothing

It washes away

in the bath, like a secret,

but as I dry him

it reappears, a

watermark, a vector field,

a map to his heart

Little moments (after dinner on Thursday 12/15/22)

 "What's this?" I ask him.

"My little tummy," he says

"Here it is! Tada!"

an old dog on a good day

the bounce of her ears

her pleasant cadence and stride

the absent-minded

soft swing of her tail

not a wag, just a care-free swish

that says "I'm happy"

phantoms

the stinging tingle
of let-down when a child cries.

try to remember

Michael (part 1, summer 2013)

"you're big enough to
push mama around in that
carriage, young lady!"

with paper grey lips

and a voice somewhere between

a rasp and rattle

he jiggles her knee

in his tight grip as he laughs

and she laughs along

as she always does

he just has this way with her

and me; it's so nice

The reason for the season

 (on death, and maybe rebirth)

have you ever seen

the christmas trees get delivered

in new york city?

the trees that are festively

propped against A-frames

and grace our streets with the soft scent of fir

so we are transported away

from the urine-soaked sidewalk

to our decorated childhood living rooms of Decembers past?

well,

the trees are piled high in the back of a flatbed

bound and gagged, 

they are dragged from the truck,

and tossed brutally to the cement

in a flurry and tinkling 

of shedding needles.

tis a brutal scene to behold.  

but, lo, fear not

for it is just a tree.

it took only twenty years to grow

two decades of sun, seasons, and birds' nests

before it was swiftly felled.

and, lo, fear not

for the scent of fir will fill the air anew

when Michael,

the friendly gardener in Fort Greene Park,

spreads freshly chipped pine mulch

over the flower beds 

in the spring

and, again, we will be transported.

you're wrong about most things, anyway

it's that confident feeling

of finally being on time for preschool.

"mommy, may I have a glass of tomato juice?"

"of course, my sweet. 

my darling. 

my beautiful, sophisticated child who drinks tomato juice.

of course you may."

and you smile

because you are confident

and organized

and your child drinks tomato juice.

and with one shake of the recyclable glass bottle (well done, you!) 

you feel the cap wobble beneath your palm

your child says "oh shit!"

and in that moment

that second

that one shake of a bottle

you are no longer on time for preschool.