Consumed

The children have left me
with this changed body
that holds onto their shapes
as though they're still inside

And the gulp of lovepride
worrylove happybrightfear
and other odd couplings
on the lip of my heart


___________________________________
Yesterday, lingering after dinner, smirky and teasing (and full of love), At and Nu told me that even if I was in a nursing home on Thanksgiving, they'd make sure to visit me (and feed me mashed potatoes). 

One more reason this week's going to be terrible for us...

Both of us 

had put a copy of 

Essence Magazine's commemorative issue on the Obamas

in the other's surprise

Christmas stocking...

_

Reader

The sky has never been a wall
it has no borders to speak of
it takes my troubles everywhere

It's true that light is rationed--
but it's abundant by my birthday
(though scant at Christmas)

So I can read a book all day,
All Day. In a cinnamon haze
my sweet, dusty feast

_

Moving

Today I have been moving
things across the table
as though a sudden ballerina
a flex of muscle and will
the shock of movement

Tomorrow's move might
well be a glacier
skeletal, powerful,
a dance in the register
of eras


Also, I love this silly song.

_

Warmth

Sometimes it is the surprise present 

an old, dear friend slipped 

into our luggage as we said goodbye 

(a present I didn't find until weeks later 

because I left for the conference 

the very day we got home)

that is the sweetest

and warmest.

_

On Being a Life-long Learner

So a dear (old) student posted this on FB, and I agreed with it so whole-heartedly that I typed 'YES' in all caps. Then I got a little self-conscious about my all caps and tried to explain with "This election has turned me into that crazy, old lady who types in all caps." Instead I ended up going with: "This election has turned me into a person who types in all caps." Because "crazy," "old," and "lady" shouldn't be insults. Sometimes, I'm my own best student.

_

Opening

on the seams of my skin
longing's
cyclone lament

once we were hungry

face to face
hand in hand
an eye for an eye

admiring in the orchards

quarreling;
the moon hemmed
in the tallest branches

wordy memories of feasts

the soar of the sky
the sail of my cries
the crest of a smile

on the seams of my skin


_