pompom hat

the closet cleaning clothes boxing of your discards
meant to make me feel
lighter; the sadness not in the clothes
themselves nor even in this evidence of time
passing, sizes changing, personalities tried on and rejected
perhaps
a sense of failure in restraining consumption
in training care and appreciation
though the hat is not even the best emblem but merely one
of the last in the pile, the pompom salvaged for when
you decide to wear hats again
rather than this handful of ravaged spangled spandex
that was for one brilliant night a prom dress

opening

because in this closing of the year
i find another narrow door
to slip through—somelight
like you came into the world
all pent-up fuss and bother

more than true for once desire
to escape without admitting it—
sometimes
proclaiming it—

now these boxes and ribbons
become remembrance, smoothing over, wrapping up
and making pretty
ordinary, how mothers and daughters fit together,
spool apart

driving home, in this drizzle

because I saw the opossum
improbably trotting across the road
and thought first of Piglet then parents
children helpless things all those
waiting-watching-waiting for loved ones
to come back and in that slow-flash
you hit your brakes swerved behind me
(is it raining out there? it’s raining here too)
waking not anger sadness superiority but
neither mere impatience
with your impatience

given: what have i/what can i/what could i have

for M., A., & P.C.

first, life—but what of it
life is all around, this collection of cells
bodies coming together
time and time and time

love—have you always known
not adoring eyes but daily bread
and fencing to keep you safe
how you shook it, railing
doubt and doubt and doubt

some lesson—what is it
that mistakes can or can’t be
forever, a path misstepped
can be straightened and lead where—?—
it always wanted to go
(regret no and no and no)

being every summer’s pledge
to keep tomato vines trim
zucchini picked small
what luxury are we, unpruned
and what cruel joke of divine design
that we bloom fully
only in the eye of the tearing wind

Scarf Daughter

black and white:
I made it
you wear it
sometimes

*

I don’t know how to feel only
the hands keep working
regardless
you hate the cold
we text about weather
the sun slowly moves now
across an ocean
we keep the same hours

*

we stood on that castle hill
sheep scattered below
dog racing slant impossible
angles everything else
insignificantly small

*

from the earth this chain
of lands, hands, shearers
spinners, makers
green grazing
storm sky
growling
wear that distant sun-root
with your attitude

*

love is not in the saying
and not in the doing
then where? the heart only
a physical thing
blood beating regardless

*

it’s called infinity
but of course
there is beginning and end
seamed together
with trust it won’t unravel

Paradise Lost/Love, Mom

                         It’s messy,

                         I know:

wars                                         squabbles

                         between

nations                                     friends

                         bruised

hearts                                        shins

                                                   headaches, sniffles

                                                   homework, doubt—
scorpions, taxes

floods, drought—

                         You’re wonderful.

                                                   Good night,

I promise,
                         it’ll be all right.

                         But I did tell you

NOT

                         to eat

that fruit.                                 more vegetables.