untitled

We all fall apart a little differently.
I ask questions; will i make it on time,

what can I give up, what
have i done?  Aven won't

eat anything but noodles
or grapes and cheese arranged
like a clown face on her plate.

Amelia curled up in my arms
this afternoon and sobbed
as we sat in the tall grass
by the fence and she said
she was sorry for frightening
the dog, bumping her head,
it was just too much,
that she was DONE!
I understand, Bird.

The rhythm of our days
is still so untested, still
frightening, tiring, new.

I'm fine as long as I don't look at things head on-
from a sideways glance, we're doing fine.

And I find support; my friends
who ask how it all is going,
who laugh with me
at the enormity of what we're
all trying to do.  To do well.
And from my mother-in-law
who makes me coffee,
slices beets into mason jars,
primed and painted my entire
living room in the last
few days, does my dishes
and laundry.  Tells me
I will figure this all out.

I miss unhurried mornings,
plans and projects, reflecting
and making.  My two blond
girls easing into the day
with me. 

It is hard to say
I don't know
that what I'm working so hard for
is right.

Maybe it is too soon,
and I'm tired
and overly dramatic,
and still have so much to do
before another morning begins.

last day of summer

Everywhere I see
the reach
and retreat of so many
living things;






the urge to gather, take stock, prepare,



to reflect and look back,

and to look ahead...

Happy Fall!

bus stop love poem

Dry grass and smokey skies;
we wait for her bus.





Then just like that
we are three
again
and I feel my balance
made right
as we head back
up the driveway
home.

saturday morning light

 

I'll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time. ~Emily Dickinson

vanishing point

My kitchen is full
of eggplant as far
as the eye can see...





also tomatoes.

before the frost

It's late this year;
our grace period extended
by a week or two.
But daylight is noticeably less
and the manic reach and unfurl
has slowed a bit
as we reach this last day
before the frost.



Like so many things
I've been feeling lately;
it is one part mourning a loss,
and one part acceptance;
celebration even



of how far we've come,
and the certainty of change,
the revolution of season
and knowing that things are in balance,
the world as it should be.



We will wake
to a sudden change,
will spend the afternoon
pulling wilted vines down
as the sun warms shoulders
and geese align
and move off together
high overhead.

second day

I dropped Aven off at preschool this morning,
then Amelia at Kindergarten.  This is the second day
of our new schedule and we were feeling good;
everyone was dressed, fed, and in place
with time to spare. 



I pulled out of the elementary school parking lot
and headed toward the campus library
where I planned to spend the next four hours. 

And I thought; how does this all happen? 

I still feel like a kid
driving a pretend car at the carnival,
drinking my make-believe coffee,
heading off into my imaginary
grown-up day. 



Except I'm not. 

I'm really the mom,
packing lunches and managing schedules,
dropping my kids off at school with hugs and kisses. 



There are parts of my life
where it feels like time
has somehow folded
back on itself. 
Where I feel childlike disbelief at myself.



I know exactly how I got here;
I feel such a fierce maternal protectiveness
for each day that brought me here,
the choices I've made,
this fragile, beautiful, delicious life I've built...
and yet....really...
how did I get here?