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Samantha’s Daily Poem

February 9, 2014

That everything sky

It was the kind of sky
you talk about with cashiers
and strangers filling up with gas

a floating carpet of purple
with the sun at the edge
dunking the mountains in yellow

an impossible sky
like some kindergarten craft
made with cotton balls and scissors
and gobs of paint

a perfect sky
for a day so taut with moods

I could have laid down
and watched it
for a long time

that everything sky
turning a threat
into a promise.

Posted In: Nature | one comment
February 8, 2014

Feeding quarters into you

You are making a boat
out of Lego
and I look at it
with the leftover part of my brain
that isn’t thinking about work
or whether we have avocadoes
for that dip I said I’d bring

I say in a voice
that sounds plastic
and dull

wow, how did you do that

as though I am feeding
quarters into you

a tepid encouragement
a plea to keep playing
on your own
so I can marshal
the clamor of my list

and you just look up at me
with a simple pity

mama, you just need practice
and you can make one too.

Posted In: Parenthood | no comments
February 6, 2014

Stories with no words

I am told we don’t remember much
before we are four
though they are still there
the memories
like eggs
you don’t see
in a cake

the acupuncturist tells me
they hide in the body
stories with no words
roosting in our livers
hanging from our lungs
swept into webs
around our hearts

like the other day
when I locked the bedroom door
you screaming on the outside
me on the inside

I just need to not be here for a minute

I begged silently
with my eyes closed
my fists white and dancing

I tell myself there are exceptions
memories that just fall out
like loose change

or then a map at least
of your little body
so I can find out
where that moment has nested
and love you enough
to scrub it away.

Posted In: Parenthood | no comments
February 5, 2014


We walk home from the playground
our shadows long and wispy
like spider legs

you tell me that shadows
are grey which means
they are old

then you step on mine
and you ask me

mama, does it hurt
to get old

but before I can answer
you have run ahead
counting how many steps
to the big tree

and I watch your shadow
thin and weary
being yanked along
behind you.

Posted In: Parenthood | one comment
February 1, 2014

What the monk said

Make friends with yourself
the monk said

and I felt my skin snap
against my bones

in that way
when clarity punctures
the crust of old habits
and the world goes still
for a precious borrowed blink

a familiar clump of words
but somehow I knew
what she meant

see the good
forgive the bad
and don’t put yourself
up on a pedestal

I sat for a long time afterwards
on a bench in the wind
wondering at the genius
of such ordinary love.

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