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Samantha’s Daily Poem

January 26, 2014


Low roof of grey
smudged over the city

the kind of weather
when people die
in their sleep

even the foghorn
that kept me up last night
supposedly bellowing warnings
of jagged things

sounded sad
like a depressed man’s yawn

it lingered again today
erasing anything tall

another attempt
between sky and sea
to meet
and smother us
in their enduring hum.

Posted In: Nature | no comments
January 23, 2014

This mothering business

We are eating out of thermoses
after your swim lesson
when you quietly sound out
the word family

I alarm you by yelling
that you can read

which you can’t quite
because you guessed family again
for the word door
though it might have been
the pressure

I agree to a few minutes
in the playground on the way out
because we are late
but it is too sunny
to say no

and as I watch you climb
the chain link ladder
I am comforted
by how your legs wobble

how you want me to watch
you go down the slide
each time

and how you still get excited
to tell me exactly where
you are going to hide
and then seem to believe me
when I say I can’t find you

it is strange
this mothering business

I know you can’t stay small
and yet it aches sometimes
to help you grow

Posted In: Parenthood | no comments
January 22, 2014

An open poem to Justin Bieber

If someone took pictures
of my house
and told everyone
they were pictures
of me

you know
what I’m getting at
don’t you

there are a thousand
of you inside your skin


not even you
have met them all yet

so don’t let us fool you

you are not the tin
on the outside

listen closely
one of those ghosts
inside you
is trying to tell you

he’s the old man
whose bones
you are borrowing

he wants you to know
you will wish
you’d been wiser.

January 21, 2014


Even when the future offers
don’t ask

lean backwards
in to the silence
and see how sweet
your life can be
when you don’t know
what’s coming

let the unexpected
have a turn

let people
love you
when they’re ready

just for once
trust in story
not plot.

January 20, 2014

Undocumented roars

If I don’t write this poem
about the morning you chased me
past the tenuous hum
of my patience

will either of us remember
that my whole body
became a roar

will you wake up one day
in bed beside your wife
and think

I can see her point
about being late
and the baby was crying
and the shoes were fine
to begin with

or will it be me
on my deathbed
crinkled like a leaf
with a sudden urge to sing
like I did that morning
a yelling kind of song

I told you
that I was trying to get happy
and maybe I will say
the same thing
to the nurses

but really
it will just feel
to roar.

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