Day 5: A Somewhat Addled Double Dactyl*

Piddleton puddleton

Poor Mr. Pemberton

Isn’t the sharpest of

Tools in the shed.

Laughing hysterically,

Alphanumerically

He counts his numbers from

Alpha to zed.

* If you're unfamiliar with the double dactyl form, check it out on Wikipedia.

Day 4: On Waking

I come slowly from sleep this morning –

Two steps forward, one step back –

The hungry murmurs of my son tugging me up,

The lull of my dreams drawing me down.

It’s the birds that break the tie,

Their insistently cheerful twittering scattering

The clouds of my mind like miniature feather dusters

Tickling my thoughts alive and suddenly, irreversibly:

I’m awake.

It’s not even dawn, my tired body protests

But weakly – just two years of this and already

I know I cannot win.

And so I rise,

Place one foot, then the other

Through soft, cool pajama legs,

Flap quietly down the hall in my slippers,

Squint at the thermostat,

Put the kettle on.

I don my best insistently cheerful smile

(Which I’ve borrowed from the birds, at least for now).

I open the door to my son’s room, still in blackness,

And draw the curtains on another day of motherhood.

Day 3: For Cass, Because It Is Quena's Birthday

I’ve read the advice:

Call your mother on your birthday;

It’s as much her day as yours.

So today,

Your birthday,

I am writing a poem for your mother.

Because you are beautiful,

Because you are strong,

Because you let yourself experience

Wonder, just as she does –

Because you love.

Because she, too,

Embodies all of these things.

And because I, too, know what it is

To bring a child into this world

On Resurrection Day.

Day 2: The Close of Day

After a day of doing

My mind still swirls with

The settling dust

Of crossed-off chores.

Perhaps a cup of tea

To slow myself

And welcome sleep.

Tomorrow comes early.

NaPoWriMo 2014 Day 1: April

What are fences

But temporary

(arbitrary)

Divisions of what is not

Ours to begin with?

We humans feel

An absurd, overriding need

To classify, to claim,

To separate ourselves –

What is mine should not be yours.

And so we reduce our neighborhoods

To yards (in form and measurement),

Assign our children genders,

Define work and play and say

That only one is worthy.

We carve up April

And give it thirty days

And say,

“Let’s write a poem for each one.”

Day 30: Poetry Keeps Me

Poetry keeps me

Up late at night,

Long after I should

Be asleep.

Poetry keeps me

Inspired, to write

Through shallow crap – dig

Down deep.

Poetry keeps me,

My senses alight,

The fruits of awareness are mine

To reap.

Poetry keeps me

At significant height,

Makes me bolder, dares me

To leap.

Poetry keeps me

And I know it is right

Because poetry, too,

I keep.

Day 29: Bits and Pieces

No real coherent poem today - just bits and pieces.

We practice being

Gentle with flowers

In the garden, but

The only ones I’ll pick for him

Are dandelions – not because

They’re weeds, but because

They’re edible.

~~~~~

For years I have shown

Only half of my skin –

The half I assumed

Others wanted to see –

And locked up the rest behind

Layers of doubt

Until it was hidden even

From me.