crooked house

My Son, The Sun

My son makes a gesture my mother used to make. The sun
    in their eyes.
Fluttering their fingers. As if to disperse it.
He does it again. The sun, like the drifting ashes of a distant
    past. The petals
Of some exploded yellow roses.

The miracle of it.
The double helix of it.
The water running uphill of it.

From Laura Kasischke's Space, In Chains.

Last night Luke got wind of the asteroid that was going to pass between the earth and the moon and became convinced it was going to smash right into us.  He couldn't be talked out of this notion and veered wildly between glee at the thought of it -- and sheer panic. I'm very glad the planet has survived unscathed.

Poems for Parents: Inspired by Mary Oliver

 

Inspired by Mary Oliver's The Summer Day:

Who made the world?
Where do babies come from; why do people die?
Who made the child?
This child, I mean --
the one who keeps asking all of these questions,
the one who is eating my ice cream instead of the one she dropped,
who is moving her tongue back and forth and also up and down --
Now she asks why is the sky blue? Why is the night so dark?
Now she snaps her mouth shut, and purses her lips for a milky kiss.
Let me tell you, I know exactly what a prayer is.
I know how to pay attention, how to pay too much attention,
how to listen for each breath instead of sleeping through the night,
how to worry too much, how to stroll along the sidewalk
slowly, very slowly, thinking up answers to difficult questions,
which is what I have been doing all day.
There are a lot of things I should've gotten done.
Of course she is growing up too fast, and too soon.
But tell me, what is it you would do
with one wild and precious hour to yourself?

Poems for Parents: Inspired by Robert Frost

Inspired by Robert Frost:

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry we could not travel both
And be one family, long I stood
and listened to the kids going at it good
till one punched the other in the mouth.

 

Then I made them both, as just as fair,
Turn right around and go straight back home.
Because I won’t have it, I don’t care;
No matter how much they cry and moan
They have to learn to take turns, to share.

 

One wanted one road, the other, the other.
Of course! That is always the way.
It is difficult being the mother
Of this stubborn sister and brother.
If one wants to go the other will stay.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I'm somehow now the bad guy.
So we missed one walk, what’s the difference?

Poems for Parents

In the style of e.e. cummings:

 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart) i carry your book bag also(i carry

it in my arms,dear) and your lunchbox as well

and your waterbottleandyoursweater and

this

    very

elaborate art project

                                  and no, you can’t have a piggybackride

too.