Almost

I am worried for my friend
whose young sister has passed away
and tomorrow is coming

and my friend is coming back
and I'm venting to Big A about how
death doesn't make any sense.

And I'm sitting by his feet in a darkened room
in the middle of the morning, because he's trying
to sleep before he works the E.R. tonight.

And he's stroking my ankles, telling me
that "everybody dies, every body dies--you
know we're walking with ghosts."

My skin prickles surprise, I want to hear it
again until it turns out what he had said was--
"you know that's how it goes..."

Friday night crew

Bluey got her 10,000 mile checkup and got all cleaned up, I got a massage, and hung out with some girlfriends at SH's birthday bash, but I headed home early, because this is where my heart was.

While We Wait

The longer our Title IX people take to wrap up the case, the closer I am to feeling that things are going wrong, that people misbelieve me, he will be back on campus, and even more empowered now, and on and on.

I need to take a deep breath and focus on all that is lovely in life.

The Beauty

I am two years ten months old,

beloved first-born: am told my face 

is open as windows, my smiles gems

of happiness, when baby sister is born.

I remember being taken to visit

Amma and the wrinkly new baby 

too in the hospital, in the morning, right 

before I have to go to Mrs. Pinto's "school."

And I remember the chill of nerves

the clunky thump of suspense, feeling 

so sneaking clever when--patting her tenderly, 

I tell my parents: "Baby sister--Chelli Paapa--

is so, so beautiful; I don't want to go to school."

My ploy creeps on, it has lived many lives

it has floated past memory's borders, 

the recall slowly fading.

When I retell it now, on this whole other continent, 

my own kids chortle, roll their eyes, call me 

"playa." My face is a window, is a mirror, 

my face is a door that lets the lie in.

 But my parents have told this story for decades,
in a haze of earnestness, claimed 'blessings
--love or beauty or children, or the hazy
necessity of whatever comes next.  

dreamed a dream

Our moon is too long ago
is very nearly gone

did it fall like plump fruit
into the water? Will it rise?

I am still so afraid, my voice
tears pulled from the well

All "good morning" and "what
seems to be the matter."

Monday Face

 

Bright spot

At said when this picture came to family chat: "got reelected to YDSA and got on the Dean's List selfie."

I'm adding extra credit and top marks for some masterful pattern mixing and the clean toilet in the background.

Our first-born is adulting.