Common Interest

You say
We need more in common,
Because you like sports and cars
And wouldn't it be wonderful if you had
Someone to share it all with?

And in the middle of your complaint
You are interrupted by an excited voice,
Huge, inquisitive eyes just like your own
But with my smile and build.
She wants attention
From both of us.

Before you can return to your point,
he runs in with all of my energy and enthusiasm.
You're his favorite person to cuddle with,
But he won't go to bed without his mother's song.
He wants to eat whatever you're eating,
And whatever I'm slicing on the cutting board--
Tiny hand groping around boldly from below.

If we did nurse the narcissistic need
To be reflected in another
We would quickly find that we have worlds in common,
Two pieces of heaven:
One which began in 2009, and one in 2011.

Dream

I had the craziest dream about you on Saturday night. 

I met you and her @ some divey bar where you girls were dancing and singing karaoke, you both looked like you were having an amazing time when I got there. She left and then we left and started walking. you had an amazing twinkle in your eyes, like you were reflecting all of the stars back at me when I looked at you.

As we walked I reached into my pocket and pulled out a package and gave it to you. when you opened it there was the most beautiful white sabertooth tiger inside. a HUGE animal, it was fantastic. The further we walked the more packages I gave you. one with a tiny kitten made of pure gold, when it meowed it was like a ROAR that could be felt as much as heard. one after another I gave you packages containing cats. this one made of rainbows, the next chocolate, cotton candy, leather, and steel. the cats kept coming. 

It seemed like hours we walked and talked. the stars, the cold night air, me touching your hand, you touching mine back, making faces and cracking jokes. still the cats kept coming. 

by the time we circled back it felt as though we were flying. as you crossed the street to the front door there were cats EVERYWHERE! it was crazy. I thought, "that's a lot of cats! I wonder where shes going to put all those cats? does she even want A cat? let alone 100 cats?!"

The walk was amazing. sorry if I gave you a thousand nuisance cats.

Days Like This

Today I am thinking of my father

On what would have been his 68th 

You were too big for the world, Dad.

Emotional Response

He asked me a question
That directly related to my past
Which reminded me that life is not fair
And is sometimes cruel and merciless
And so I started to cry
And his response was,
"Where are the tears coming from?"

He was not the first to do this.
The trend seems to surpass gender, age, training, and approach.
An inside joke for counselors:
"If we're going to listen to all of their issues,
We at least reserve the right to kick 'em when they're down."

It always seems to happen right in the middle of a revelation,
When I'm allowing myself to feel what I was trained not to feel,
My soul starting to center itself--
And someone is being left out, so he or she asks the dreaded question,
Halting my progress and requiring yet another fifty minute hour
And ten dollar co-pay.

No Wonder

To the women of my mother's generation: I respect you. You have worked to have it all, and you've accepted that you have to do it all. You have raised daughters expecting them to have both careers and families. You burned bras and marched for civil rights.

But the blind spot that you have worked to maintain, that you are now training me to have, that tells me to keep quiet and accept that men are allowed certain privileges in marriage, this I cannot accept. Don't tell him to hang on there when I'm upset that he left me and cheated all because--glory of glories--he came back. Don't ask me to remove posts that just might incriminate him if one reads carefully. And please don't call me a "good girl" if, out of respect for you, I do. I don't want to survive unhappily on benzos and caffeine for the sake of making a marriage work. It's too stuffy in here; I need air.

I remember my grandmother's house: the gold shag carpet, the brick red linoleum floors. She served my grandfather like he was a king, bringing him his food, even peeling his bananas for him. And when her dementia debilitated her, the tables turned, and he waited on her. At least she had an excuse.

We Aren't

for my own almost other lover

Regardless of how I cut and pull and prune, it takes root, sprouts, flowers: a beautiful bloom that I want to touch and smell and taste.

Next to it is one bitter and deadly; I need to let it die. When I feed your sweet, unassuming flower, I inevitably nourish its poisonous neighbor: the anger I hold for all the wrongs he's done to me. 

I need to tend to my family, not to my resentments and desires. Even when you reside patiently and respectfully in my periphery, I nurse  a passion that conflicts with my reality. I need to let it die.

In the beauty of spring I toil to plow my rocky Folsom soil with exhausting solidarity.

Dirt under my fingernails, sweat and dust mingling on my skin, I reach for a goodbye. I need to let it die.

Industrialized Foodstuffs and Enjoyment

the package on the oatmeal instructs me
to add a dairy beverage
or a non-dairy beverage
natural or artificial sweetener
fruit, honey, raisins, or nuts
and enjoy.

how long have they been telling people how to eat oatmeal?
listing our options as if we didn't know,
being sure to remind us
to enjoy.

is this a valid concern?
when did we start
needing to be told
to enjoy our food?

the tech writers had to think long
and hard on that one.
you never want to mislead your consumer,
especially when it comes to oatmeal.