100 Days of Poetry: Days 46-50

Monday Trail Run

(a nonet poem)

Sunshine called me to the ridge today
Mud-caked feet, steep path ascending
New trail, adventure ahead
Lungs burning, heart soaring
Slow, but I don't care
Friends at my side
Deep inhale
Strong legs
Joy

Writer's Block

(a shadorma poem)

poem time
procrastination
thoughts escape
words fail me
creativity run dry
I write anyway

Catalogue of Worries

Always efficient,
My brain recycles worries
No need to reinvent the wheel when depression strikes
Just run through the tried and true list:
First, always, my thin, lifeless hair
Next, the lumpy extra pounds
A shudder for that time, decades ago, when I fell asleep in a client meeting and drooled, literally drooled, onto my shoulder
And a cringe in memory of my concerts (did I really think I could sing? Who was I kidding?)
A groan for the boy in college I never should have dated and whose name I can no longer recall,
A click of disgust for each time I opened my big mouth and said the wrong thing
A sigh for legs that no longer run the way I want them to
Should I go on?
A roll of the eyes
A tear
A weight descending
And then the fog lifts
Quite suddenly
Unexpectedly
Blissfully
Until next time

Pas de Deux

No fairytale marriage in my childhood home
Mother tensed at a hug
Unable or unwilling to relax into an embrace
Daddy was earnest, too earnest sometimes,
And explosive

A meeting of minds, to be sure
Two intellectuals parsing literature and music
Two friends sharing a love of nature
Little visible romance
No fairytale

Forty years in, Mother realized,
To her considerable surprise,
The strength of their marriage
The unmistakable bond

For me, the understanding arrives later, in a quiet moment
Watching a wheelchair dance

Daddy stands, braced against the sofa
Arms outstretched
Hands beckoning

Uncertain, her eyes riveted on her husband
Mother leans forward in her wheelchair
Clutches the outstretched hands
Allows him to pull her forward

For an instant, they support each other
Hands clasped
Then they turn, eyes still locked
And she sighs into the sofa
He tucks the blanket around her
Settles into a chair to read a favorite story

No royal pas de deux has ever meant so much
As two octogenarians
Bent and unsteady
Sharing a dance for the ages

Elegy to the Mother of Boys

Ah, the stench of sweaty football cleats
The din of teammates lining up to devour a pot of chili!
Just last year, teeth chattering, I filmed yet another rainy lacrosse game
I cleaned up bottles and crumbs
Forgotten athletic cups
Pizza boxes left in my car
And turf beads littering the bathroom floor
I stayed awake hours past my bedtime
Waiting to hear tires on the driveway
Forced myself awake to hear my usually monosyllabic boy chat

I have mothered boys for nearly three decades
Navigating the unfamiliar territory of testosterone
The awkwardness of man limbs on a child experimenting with new strength
The mystery of men's fashion
The endless wrestling
The ER visits

And then
One late summer day
My last boy waved a carefully confident good-bye
No more cleats left on the porch to air
No tackles to bring me to my feet with a cheer
No "Charlie in the box" pubescent voices
No youthful arms lifting me off my feet in a bear hug
Missionary, husband, father, grad student, professional
I am a mother of boys no longer
I am a mother of men

Halfway

(A cascade poem)

Halfway through my life I pause
Laughter and tears play a tug of war
The future both beckons and taunts

I dashed madly through my twenties
Raised children for three decades
Halfway through my life I pause

Toddler antics, family songs, random quotes
Aging parents, marriage in transition
Laughter and tears play a tug of war

Can we remember selectively?
Live without fear?
The future both beckons and taunts