HERO

2:36 to 3:03 of Mariah Carey Hero.
Brief relief from Ariel perched
half woman half fish
on her episodic rock of ages.
My grandma gave me the Heroine book -
Joan of Arc, Pocahontas.
I spelled it Heroin in my hole punched summary.
Learned that difference, the easy way.
Cole always told me to be magic,
but every time I tried we both got sad. 
He would say right now how I’m *wrong*
and if I think about it (at all)
he’s *right*
– but then that’s another
viaduct/marble situation
and I’d rather just swallow the day,
however it tastes.
2:36 to 3:03 of Mariah Carey Hero.
Maybe just to 3:02.
That’s the most legitimate 
feeling I’ve had 
in a while. 

New languages

I'm learning new languages this year

We don't say frustrated, right ladies?
We're just trying to appreciate the cuddles while the LOs (little ones)  will still let us touch them!
Do you dream feed? do you CIO(cry it out)?
Are you forced to feel guilty either way?

Hey, DS (dear son), does that high pitched scream mean you are delighted?
You need to burp? 
You feel a vague sense of despair?

DH (dear husband), I will try to have the dishes done by the time you get home.
You work so hard all day, for us.
Can you just hold the BOJ (bundle of joy) for a minute so I can pee?

Looking for an escape hatch from antiquity/modernity.
To snow shoe into uncharted territory,
Like swaying to Arthur Russell in the kitchen,
Mosi in my arms

It's a wild
It's a loving you baby
It's a walk in the park
It's a talk in the dark.

Ordering Out Of Embarrassment

Weary tack of the skin,
not sweaty but things stick.
You can't keep a magnet
on a stainless steel fridge,
but peel you off of one,
why don't I,
like the coaster
from the countertop.
Fresh from the shower,
clean tack,
a child's hands,
cold, damp,
offsets Sunday's attitude.
Just give me the menu,
and let's get on.

Pieces in places

Dear Mama:

I lost your ring in Nicaragua. Handed it over to thieves in bandanas with machetes, my fingers swollen with the sticky heat, I almost couldn’t get it off. I don’t remember if I cried or not.

I threw your shirt out in Brooklyn when my roommate gave me bedbugs. Blame was easy to assign, paranoia was not easy to suppress. You were there for most of it.

I can’t find your life story, the handwritten memoir I wanted as a Christmas gift the year after I graduated.

I gave away the painting you made for me to a boy who wanted something to remember me by a month before we broke up and I never saw it again.

I miss all these pieces of you. I wish I could find them in the corners of the world they’ve been shuffled to, summon them back, hold them near my chest.

a poem about scrapbooking

it was about september when i had the idea
and 
december when i was making the finishing touches
then 
january i was still adding more
and 
valentine's day came but it didn't feel right
so 
i kept adding more to the scrapbook of our first year together
then
11 months and 13 days ago i gave it to him
but 
i felt worried it was too soon for a gift like this
and 
not being sure how much longer this would last
but 
wanted him to know i did really care
and 
it surprised me
when 
he flipped through it and kissed me while he cried