My children are
a cramp in my foot,
a broken wheel on my grocery cart,
a fatal twist on my sled runner,
a fallen branch under my tire,
an unexpected trip.
And my slow fall and skinned hope is what they leave behind
a "sorry" thrown over their perfect shoulders
as they roll away roll away roll away,
gone.
My children are
the snag in my motor's pull chain,
the knots in a line that stops the cast too soon,
the hole in the bobber, sinking my intimate hopes.
I am eddied.
They are all current current current,
downstream.
My children are
the wild shoots that thrive in the better yard beyond
who break away their communal roots and never feel me
thinning out in the crabgrass on this side,
as they reach up reach up reach up
and fluoresce.
My children are
kites befriending winds, understood as engines,
snapping the necessary tether too soon,
dropping me stuttering in the grass, hands gripping the empty air;
admiring and forlorn and dreading their landing.
They urge away, stealing my string and sky,
and fly on fly on fly on,
owning the heights.
My children are
a planned mosaic, never finished,
who assemble themselves, from the other side.
Precious glass under my tender touch,
approximate, carefully laid out, catching a reflection
in the cleanest sand i could find.
But they are, whole and beautiful,
the light triumphant in themselves and in each other,
coalesced in the air, windows without frames,
colors affinity with colors, shapes that must be.
They cannot see my finishing flame, my red and tired fingers.
They shine with my sun, it pierces thru them,
illuminating next day next day next day
always.
My children go on,
forever smooth-limbed,
and they Just Know It and Really Get It:
they are the ones I love and believe in.
I am merely the Break and Stop and Effort That Ends.
They are the pretense of everlasting,
who crush my hopeless heart with
their tender and ordinary
disregard.
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Seer
daisyjane
The Good Daughter
Chicken Mãâàn
the traveler
Ashley F. Miller
Salon.com
Comments
their tender and ordinary
disregard" so true. I love the use of the words in triplets. It gives a feeling of continuum, falling away, moving along.
Please remember me when you're rich and famous, because you will be! Beautiful poetry!
Rated
Welcome back.
Beth: no, you get it, thaty is the exaltation in this: that we own so little of what they are, and yet we know we exist in them. I tend to use the keywords as self-deflation, personal irony, and my most unadorned feeling...
"Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you." --The Prophet
Thanks for this post. It's beautifully honest.
Love this very much. It pulls at my heart and says it so well.
I guess this piece is a bookend of sorts for my first post, "baby gone" (link at left, top of list), about the night my first child, as an infant, departed.
A friend told me this new post is just all the artful ways of not simply saying "kids are a pain in the ass". There is a something to that, I guess.
This reminded me, somewhat, of a poem I found among my Mom's papers - author unknown:
To My Child
You are the trip I did not take,
You are the pearls I cannot buy,
You are my blue Italian lake,
You are my bit of foreign sky.
Owl: thanks. precious pain indeed.
voice: yep. circle of life.
cap'n: thanks. rare kid indeed that would get this.
Tom: ha!
jimmy: thanks. very tricky, holding and releasing at the same time
Lea: you inspire me. thanks
grif: I too am inspired, but also worn out. looking forward to being bored someday.
Noisy: that's is a wonderful poem. Compact and elegant and very generous to (her?) children. A quick google search turned up nada. Perhaps it was your mother's?
"They are the pretense of everlasting,
who crush my hopeless heart with
their tender and ordinary
disregard."
I'm speechless. Every word resounds. Whew!
And that conversation at Dave's place -- is it the one? are we gonna see mind meeting? so far so good...
http://open.salon.com/blog/scrivend/2009/05/04/the_spirit_of_joab_and_the_spirit_of_jesus
I really admire your cool (yet intense) head--you're wrangling with some potentially ugly developments with aplomb. I can't wait to read what Dave says about it all.
Also, thank you for your comment on my most recent post. I'm heading over now to respond...
"My children are
kites befriending winds, understood as engines,
snapping the necessary tether too soon,
dropping me stuttering in the grass, hands gripping the empty air;
admiring and forlorn and dreading their landing."