Better and better

If I could send a call
singing along the phantom lines
of yesterday,
I’d call to tell my earlier self,
‘Don’t worry, darling.
This is the hardest part.
It gets better, I promise.’

I like them red, gold, and romantic

Just like Emily of New Moon,
things press on me until I
‘write them out.’
Whatever do people do
who can’t confide their soul
to their diary?

These days go on forever.

As the sun streams in, I try to put
my girl to bed.
Outside, people in yellow socks
are running around looking for beer.
I don’t mean that metaphorically;
they are actually
running, and they are searching for beer,
and when they find it, they will drink it.
Loudly.
I would honestly rather be right here,
reading Berenstein Bears and
Kureyon No Kurokun.
Which is nice to know, since this
is where I am.

At last.

Today a thought floated
through my head, unbidden:
Oh, look. It really is all going to be okay.

Dear world, I hate you.

I hate you, you with your stomach flu, and
snafus, and tangled emails,
and things breaking–
especially 12 things all in one day–
and forms and paperwork and bills and
dust bunnies and that new toilet cleaner
that stained the toilet blue.
But you woo me back, world.
You are relentless.
You with your rosy lights, and
your pots of tea, and your
soft sweet balmy air, and your
intimate circlet of evening moon.
You get me every time.

Hurray for beauty everywhere

I resurrected an old dinnertime ritual,
and no one protested.
Hurray!!
Hurray for picnics in the park! I started.
She leaped in joyfully:
Hurray for a pretty couch!
Hurray for a blackboard!
Hurray for a chair I never sat on til today!
Hurray for a craft table!
Hurray for scissors! For enchiladas! For pears!
Hurray for– for– for us!
It’s hard to top that.
But I would add, hurray for beauty
even in
the humblest of crannies.

Crying into my peonies

There is so much sorrow and joy
packed into every day
that I find myself weeping
walking across the room
or picking up my daughter–
just a few silent gasps
over her shoulder.
And sometimes we sit and cry together
and talk about our feelings
until she rolls her eyes
and is done
and too,
we laugh and laugh and
every day
new petals are revealed.

What’s your b?

B for brilliant.
B for bitch.
B for beauty.
B for be.

The beginning of wisdom: hot water

My list is so long.
It keeps growing.
I don’t want to do
any of the things on it.
So today we took ourselves
to the soaking pool,
and splashed and argued
and steeped and cuddled
and ate cheeseburgers
and came home yawning
enormous satisfied yawns.

The drive to the ranch:

Harrowing.
Worth it.