Category Archives: Poems

Hello, Time

A washboard and a wood-burning oven
are things I don’t have.

A few months ago
the little ones were sick, for weeks,
and I was exhausted, but I didn’t cry.

Then my washing machine fell apart inside and quit spinning.
But I didn’t cry; I used every stitch of fabric in the house
before packing the back of our van
full with dirty clothes
blankets, sheets, pillow cases,
towels, rags, more towels, and more rags
and driving to the laundromat.

When I made back to the house,
lugged in baskets filled with clean laundry,
wiped noses and gave hugs,
the oven broke. I cried.

I actually felt that if I had a washboard
and a wood burning oven
I could have kept it together. Maybe so.

The other day my dishwasher stopped running
and the water sat in the bottom.
I filled the sink with hot soapy water
and lined the counters with towels
and set to work.

The most fascinating thing happened:
contentment came to me as I stood at the sink.
I couldn’t be rushed here.
I could not force myself
to hurry through this task
like I could hurriedly stuff the washer full of
pajamas, t-shirts, and shorts,
and frantically line the dishwasher racks with
plates, bowls, and glasses
and move on to the next thing.

I spent the following few weeks
letting dirty dishes collect in the sink
throughout the day,
washing them in the morning.
Sometimes I would even stand there and dry them.
And the kids would run through the kitchen,
stop by my legs for a quick hug,
and keep going because everything was okay.
My world didn’t end, in fact, I found a whole new one.
My relationship to time has changed –
I don’t rush myself to get things done,
but sort of let the doing happen –
all because the control panel on my dishwasher burned up.

The Forsythia

The forsythia blossoms open
in a brilliant gold we haven’t seen since last year.
I notice the shape the two large shrubs make in the world.
It is a lopsided, arching sort of shape
cut to make room for the babes to run into
and hide and giggle and squabble and babble beneath.

We try to make the top and sides flat and square
while keeping the middle rounded, a comforting
nook, half tunnel, half cave.

Every Spring I judge the spindly branches protruding from the front, back, top, and sides and think,
“We’ve not done very well.”

This year I’m deciding to observe
how lovely the center is, notched out and smooth.
The branches staying back and keeping the space sacred for the children to play in.

This year I’m deciding to remember that during pruning time each season
we have a little one pulling at our pant legs crying,
or one we are chasing away from the extension cord,
or one we are teaching how to steady the ladder
while we are trying to stay calm and not swear.

It seems we have sacrificed perfection for play,
tension for tranquility,
stress for serenity.
I am not sad to see the imperfection,
but rather, bolstered to find
that even in some tiny way,
we have loved well.

I look forward to finding how the forsythia look in the Fall
and next Spring. I hope to find them
more lopsided
more silly
more wild.

Just Right Now

The ruckus of the little lives in our house keeps the baby from sleeping.  He falls asleep most often when he’s been strapped into his car seat and has no choice but to stay in one spot.  His big sisters keep him busy, interested, distracted, and engaged.  Why would he ever entertain the notion of taking a nap, he asks me, by way of kicking, fish-flopping, arching, and sliding out of my lap.  But, at noon today the girls fell fast asleep in their beds listening to Brown Bear, Brown Bear, with full bellies, and tired legs.  So, he walked up to me at the table, put his head down on my leg, and swayed his hips back and forth while I typed a bit.  Then he whined, and I picked him up.  We sank  into the rocking chair where I cradled him like a newborn.  Through the open windows we felt the cool April breeze, we listened to the late-coming birds, and we were startled by the neighborhood terrier.

Often times I feel crushed and stifled by the force of a little person demanding that I stop absolutely everything that I could ever even dream of doing and sit still.  This time was no different.  Though, it seems he strapped me into my own seat.  My eyes closed and I fell asleep a few times before he did.  The last time I woke was to the sound of his soothie popping from his mouth and bouncing from his belly to the chair to the floor.  I lifted one eyelid and peeked down to see his eyes just barely shut, his tongue and lips puffed out, and his mouth still sucking on the pacifier that had dropped far below.

Now, all three babes are sleeping in their beds, and the biggest babe is at school.  The house is quiet expect for the sounds of laundry going in the basement and the bird-chatter out the windows.  Many tasks call for my attention, but I am not sure I will tend to anything.