October 6, 2016 · 9:45 am
my sweet, small son with
so much light in his eyes
is busy wrapping small fingers
around everything he shouldn’t
and you are not here to call out that
bellowing “yo”, shake your head and
belly laugh, sip a glass of chianti
I’d snuck next to your plate.
I bet he’d stay on your lap just
a bit longer than anyone else’s.
I bet you’d have some way of
taming this small beast that
would leave us all wondering, how.
I think he’d even ask for you
when his tongue starts forming words.
I still think he’ll know to,
somehow, even with you gone –
grandpa, great grandpa, I love you.
February 9, 2016 · 1:02 pm
Three hundred and sixty-five days
Of life and death, my body swelling
Then returning – partially – to its original state.
All the while my insides are in a state of panic.
I bury my face in the crook of my son’s neck and
Somewhere in that small space I smell you.
He runs a fat finger across your photograph and you whisper to us.
I tell him all about you, this mythical creature, his great-grandfather.
He stares at the slow unhinging and hinging of my jaw, a mystery itself.
He smiles and I think the creases at the corners of his mouth could be yours.
You would laugh at his curiosity; you’d lift him even if you felt too sick.
If I could say it, say I believe in somewhere other than here,
I’d say you’re still sitting at the dinner table, watching the
incoordination of his small hands.
A huge thank you to those who continue to check in and follow my blog! I am still trying to balance my two loves: writing and my sweet baby boy. Of course, baby boy wins most of the time. 🙂 I am also hoping to begin work on a chapbook, focused on the loss of my grandfather (just over one year ago), and the connection I feel he has to my son, who shares his birthday. I will continue to post on here, although my posts may be scarce for a while…and of course to follow along with all of you.
November 8, 2015 · 6:52 pm
at night I unhinge
my bones in moonlight.
maybe I dance
maybe I remember him
I have ritualized dear grandfather
into my agnostic bedtime prayers.
Grandmother says she’ll
sleep through Christmas,
sleep right into next year
holed up above the awkward
up where he slept, too.
how has nearly a year
snuck up as quickly as
I can still smell the
cigar on his breath
the way his chest
with that rusted laugh
ain’t that a shame
August 30, 2015 · 4:40 pm
“Love set you going like a fat gold watch.”
– Morning Song, Sylvia Plath
But it would be weeks until I saw the
Black and white flicker of your real, live
Heart, its muffled whoosh, whoosh, whoosh
While your father stood dumbstruck by
My navel. We held the first, glossy evidence
Of you in our hands. We turned it over like an
Old photograph then plastered it on the fridge.
I giggled each time I reached for the milk, his
Working hands holding me, holding you.
I framed your progress all over the living room,
I showed you off to friends. My grandfather smiled his
Big, proud smile and tried his best to meet you.
I think he held you before I did. I’d barely imagined you
Before you became a beautiful, squawking thing,
A helpless masterpiece. You speak in foreign tongues
I struggle to understand. I dream you’re speaking to him.
At night your moon face makes me believe in something
I never did. I press one hand to your cheek, the other to your father’s.
July 31, 2015 · 1:35 am
my grandfather came to me yesterday
he was hiding in between the beats
of my son’s sweet cries
hello, hello, hello
quit counting breaths
quit weighing the strength of
his grip on your fingers
I am taking care of things.
I was a child once,
I am a child now, I think.
my son looks up and smiles at nothingness,
his hollow mouth is valley wide
I imagine my grandfather
whispering firm instructions:
go easy on your mother
I kiss the sky and whisper back
hello, hello, hello
I miss you so.
June 25, 2015 · 7:28 pm
it was mourning
in a quiet, orange sunrise
it was a warm mattress
with warm bodies,
snow dusted front porch,
coffee set to brew its heavy, familiar self,
a thing of happiness, twisted
when paired with death
6:39 and the animals
were asleep, I was asleep,
funny how even the
paint on the walls
looks different now
May 26, 2015 · 8:00 am
As you are reading this, my husband and I are hopefully somewhere holding our baby boy. (That’s assuming this kid doesn’t decide to make a late appearance!) Either way, today, the 26th of May, is my official due date. The day our entire world is destined to change in the most beautiful way. But today represents something else as well: it is my sweet, funny, fiercely missed grandfather’s birthday, and we have all been keeping fingers and toes crossed that he’s told my son how cool it would be to share a birthday with his great grandpa.
I’ve scheduled this post ahead of time to let everyone know that while I may be disappearing for a bit, I won’t be gone permanently. I’ll just be taking some time to learn how to care for a very tiny human being and soaking up every precious moment as a new mother. So, thank you so much to those of you who have been following my blog; I am grateful for every single like, comment, and share. I’ll be back soon to read more of your beautiful work, and will likely be bursting at the seams with poems about my son and every small new thing I’ll be in awe of.
Until then, be well, my friends.
If you’re coming across my page for the first time, thank you for visiting! While I’m away, here are some pieces I hope you might enjoy:
a poet to her son
My Grandfather Who Lingers Still
This is How You Grieve Him
April 24, 2015 · 9:50 am
No May will be the same, perched with
legs barely pretzeled against round earth belly;
I am waiting for your glorious arrival, curtained in sweat
and sighs of relief and tears like spring showers growing life.
But there is something else there too, wondering
if grief and blinding love could link arms for an
evening on the edge of my hospital bed.
I wonder if you’ll arrive on the day he
was born, wrapped in some form of him.
I wonder if I’ll know it (in the shape of your eyes)
in the way your small mouth might curve unknowingly
like it is full of all his stories, like it is screaming I’m near.
Maybe he’ll take every strength he wished
he’d had and place it in your hands and feet,
maybe when I hold you I’ll be holding him too.
At night I rest my head on quiet thoughts
of him here, just as flesh and blood as you
are flesh and blood, just as warm, and in
delicate pockets of time he is asking to be
the one to sing you to sleep.
April 17, 2015 · 3:36 pm
At breakfast he sits just across
from the coffee cups and pats of butter,
elbows propped on either side of an empty
placemat while I flip through a magazine.
And then I am winding down with the
sun that hugs me through our bay window,
while he is swaying hello from the maple tree
with the shade that falls in and out like an eager child.
He turns down the bed and tells me
the same story of his childhood while I
brush my teeth and close the curtains,
routinely kiss the photo of him on the nightstand.
He touches my face, my grandfather
who lingers still, and I don’t feel it but I can.
Either way there is a warmth I can’t explain;
he leaves me love letters in my dreams.
February 18, 2015 · 7:18 pm
The backseat of my
smelled of warm leather
even folded into his
Two weeks of
washing with generic
and his skin still
made me think of
hard work, cedar,
The name inked
on his shoulder
drooped and faded
quietly like the
of a sailor.
They packed away
the soap and
I rolled up the
windows in the
Lincoln so I wouldn’t
what summer was like.
I curve my hands
around the steering
around his shoulders,
I press my forehead
to his happiness.