catching up the baby books
I Wanted To Write Something Funny Today
But my daughter threw up
tomato soup on celery-green shag
the tile-and-floor man
finally showed up
before I could dress
or poke holes in my hair
for my eyes
and nobody kissed me
the whole damn day
My Nightmare, Your Dream
for Steve away at Wichita State
like your grandfather
who spent my childhood on planes
you soar with aerodynamic longings
hoping to fuel planes for spring break
to jump from them this summer
taking pictures of your feet
catapulting in fast-forward
toward sun-baked Kansas soil
I crane my neck imagining
the blinding glint of your descent
raise my hand to the sun
as you drift across my lifeline
your camera lens dead center
on my free-falling heart
Until Our Sides Ache
the best moments come unbidden
on the deck at night
uncontainable laughter
and its welcome tears
causing the stars
to whirl dizzily and shatter
our world reflected
in a cracked lens
kaliedoscope dissection
each fragment a compliment
of inevitable surprises
fireflies rain down
on our dazzled faces
Telling Fortunes
My daughters read horoscopes
like scriptures
the eldest peering over
the top edge of the newspaper
to look eagerly about
for dark strangers
with whom to have
my grandchildren.
My second, the pragmatist,
lifts rug corners and chair cushions
seeking coins and other treasures
misplaced by visitors
who pretend to be less than rich.
I would chide them openly
deny this frivolous charting
of each day's journey
if I could be sure
what to offer in return.
I could say,
"Do not make love every time your teeth itch--
try going to the bathroom first
and thinking of the least
popular diseases
or stretch marks,"
but when hormonal sirens
began to wail
it is the parents who fold themselves
beneath the nearest desk
arms thrown across their heads
while they await sudden silence
of an all clear
or the concentric blows
of an explosion.
I could say,
"Avoid today anyone
who makes you want to lie,"
but in their fierce need for approval
children learn early to shuffle what is true
with what only wants to be so,
playing for a while with a too-full deck.
I could say,
"End each day with a hopeful song,
full of dream words like tendrils
and camisoles, heartbeats
and long embraces,"
but some nights fathers rage
or disappear,
grandmothers pass away,
and some special someone
decides to love someone else
forever again.
Who can read music
against the ink black
of a starless sky?
If there is hope for them
perhaps it is this--
perhaps I could say,
"Be sure to make the kinds
of mistakes that will
prepare you well
for second marriages."