Friday, January 16, 2015

Rose Turns One



Her presence has increased the household decibel count by 40 dBA’s.
And thanks to her, my left arm has built up a strength of 20-pounds-per-minute.

Due to her, I’ve changed some assumptions I had about babies,
Assumptions such as,
1) Babies can get along just fine without their mommies.
2) Babies will eventually exhaust themselves with crying and fall asleep.
3) Babies won’t sit in a chair for longer than 5 minutes; therefore, chairs for babies are silly.
4) Girls learn to be feminine by watching other girls.

She crosses her legs at the ankle. She’s been doing it since birth.
She smells like celery and cotton candy.
Her hair curls after baths,
And she likes to watch the water going down the toilet.

She speaks Chinese, French, Aborigines, and Kitty.
The Aborigines involves some tongue clicking and lolling
And Kitty is only spoken with her brother.

Her sign language repertoire includes: 
All done, more, pick me up, and give me that thing I want it now!
Which is conveyed with all limps extended towards the desired object.

Her first word was “Uh-oh.”
She cackles wildly when tickled.
She has a fetish for eating paper, leaves, and dust balls in the corners of the room.
She also delights in pears, avocados, rice cakes, sour grass, and chicken bones,
Which she gnaws on with her three teeth.
She expresses joy by growling, kicking her legs, and slapping my back,
Most frequently done after I save her from Lee’s rough play.
Sometimes she rests her temple on my shoulder or touches her lips to mine,
Or climbs onto my knees and stands up and breathes into my face,
Warm breath that smells like sour bread.

In the mornings she sits in her crib, hands extended, wanting me.
How can she want me so badly?
I pick her up, kiss her, and then she’s doing the worm to be put down again.
Do you want me or do you not?
I must be her home base, her oasis, her sun and moon, and daily delight.
That’s good. 
Because she's mine.

.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Hand-Me-Downs

Found two feathers, long and black,
Lost plumage from a molting crow.
Used wax to put quills on my back,
And as suspected, wings grow. 

I grew wings and flew away.
Spun around a jet’s contrail.
Soaked in clouds until today


When I found a lizard’s tail.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Mattress Tester

I’ve been hired by pirates who make me walk the plank.
But don’t pity me.
I don’t land in the sea,
But rather onto beds that I rank.

These pirates are bed makers hired by a lord far away
to find the best bed
for the very best head.
And that is how they earn their pay.

I’m not paid a cent for my work, just the promise to let me live,
but that’s not guaranteed
if my jumps don’t succeed.
And if the mattress they make has no give.

Tissues, marshmallows, bread, and raked leaves:
Beds made of these
are simply a breeze.
I rate my landings with ease.

But wriggling snakes, live bugs, and wet fish.
Those landings hurt,
bruised and disconcert.
I stated those beds had unsettling squish.

Four years of constant testing before they sent me home.
Don’t be surprised.
It shouldn’t raise eyes.
The best beds were made of cotton, springs, and foam.