april post-a-poem {8}

i see
those girls
your age
lurking around the local tim hortons
and my heart feels sick
as i listen to them curse jagged profanity
and cringe at their harsh giggles
and poorly done makeup....
and i think of you.
{my soft and sweet, my fuzzy peach cheeked...}
i hate to think of you
as hard
or jaded...
brittle
and mean.

those girls that look as tough as nails
but you know would shatter like glass
make my heart sink.

and i grieve for your fuzzy peach cheeks
as i compliment
your thick new mascara
that obscures your soft blue eyes

and you silently love me behind your teenage disguise.

april post-a-poem {7}

it's hard for me to see you so sad,
tear swollen eyes
and little girl lost
and know there is
nothing
i can do to make it better...

no bandaid, no bribe of cookies or candy...
no switching on a cartoon to divert your attention.

you are heartbroken
for the first time
and it tears me apart to
see you so sad...

and to feel so helpless.

all i can do is offer words
and make time to listen
if you decide you want to talk...
it just feels like i should be doing more...
offering more, fixing things, changing things

making it not hurt.

but i'm helpless on the sidelines,
watching and waiting,
guessing and gauging,
checking each day for progress...

watching you hold your heart together
with two small hands.

april post-a-poem {6}

my words precede me
deceive me
perceive me
releive me
in a way that no one else's can.

they fly from my fingers
like barn swallows
fluttering and flickering
at the edge of an unfinished thought.

i can't always gather them in
they fly in a flock
they spriral and swoop
and when i try to contain them
they peck at my brain
begging to be let back out to play.

i release them
in hopes
they will find their way back to me.

the halfway point.

wow...april has really kicked my ass as far as poems go.

as far as anything goes really.

but...
i'm back to work today after a 5 day break
including wakes and funerals and
trying to hold it together and
make your dad laugh
when you know he is trying so hard
not to cry in front of you
and no matter how many times
you say it's ok to cry
you know he won't break down in front of you
but the sweetness of that second
when he held your hand tight
and walked across the parking lot of the church
{when was the last time i held hands
with my father...i'm not sure i know}

but now
life as normal
or as normal as usual...
goes on all the same...

april post-a-poem {5}

the water in the sink gets cold.

i was doing the dishes
but came to look for pictures
of you
instead...
and found none.

i know i have them,
i have them in my head,
your black hair, your granny glasses,
bright eyes
and sun-behind-the-cloud smile...
the way your english is always tinged
with french,
syllables accenting in opposite places....

the purple shirt
silky smooth with tiny flowers,
knitting needles clacking in your hands...

and the water in the sink gets cold.

april post-a-poem {4}

i'm writing a poem she said
you can't read it she said
it's only for me she said
the words are all mine she said
you wouldn't like it she said
you wouldn't get it she said
i am different than you she said
not better than you she said
but different than you she said
i won't let you read it she said
not even if you ask nicely she said
and then she left it out on the table
open for all to see (except me)
and walked out of the door
and that's all she said.

april post-a-poem {3}

a day behind already...
easter morning come and gone...
candy on the couches
gummi bear murder scenes set up and
photographed
a nap
woken by a phone call
that my grandmother is in the hospital,
come quick.

a sunny drive that caught me crying
remembering how she pronounced
diane as dzee-ann...
meatpies and french fries,
archie comics and coloring books
carol burnett on the tv
while she counted stitches and watched the babies...

antiseptic halls and labored breathing
tubes pumping oxygen
moments of comprehension
that we grasp onto like gold...
and we pass them along to each other to hold
"she said she loves to eat..." we say
"that no one can take that away from her"
and we all smile knowingly,
recognizing shreds of granny
within ...

watching my father by her bedside,
she is frail now and can't see...
grasping for the bedrail,
she finds my father's hand
and holds it.

driving home in the dark...
peanut butter sandwiches,
mindnumbing tv
as i wonder what are the things
my kids will remember
about me.

april post-a-poem {2}

write me a poem
she said
in a half whisper
tie it to a thread
and hang it from the tree
outside my window
make it glitter
make it gold.

i put away my pen and went to bed.

april post-a-poem {1}

his name was gunther
and his hair was stone cold white
he told me he could speak german
if i liked...
that his hands were as soft as butterflies
and that his wife
once told him
that when she died
{when death finally said yes}
that's what she would be...
a butterfly.

that she would come back to him
and he would know it was her
because she would land on his fingertips
and no one would be able
to tell
where he stopped
and
she
began.