The So-Long Day


photo from Guys & Dolls




to fly back home

to where they hang their hats

and bicycles.


To the crabapple tree

the straw people

the smooth river stones

steep stairs

blue room.


Their wall of us

feathered hairstyles,

outdated pairings.


Posters of shows

Grandpa has directed,

silos of grain

wood stacks


braided rug

sixties wallpaper

shouting HAIR! and love.


And I’ve only a

small handful

of recording

with them

when I need at least 360.


How could I write

seriously about them,

their lives


bound-up in next visits


I need a whole summer everyday

for the rest of our lives.


Bread making

cheese nibbling

gin and tonics waiting

on conversations and moments

to set aside and sing.


Hearing about mechanics giving way to learning just how little

he was expected to obtain.


And Grandma, her dancing,

private practice,

pink jeans juxtaposed with casseroles and June Cleaver,

thinking, moving friends,

and her parents–

Nanny so smart

even a part of Mensa.

Her “tootaloo”.


Did you know she had poison ivy on her wedding

& didn’t even

sweat it.


Yep, I need more time

with these two.

More whistles

and songs

stories and hugs

for like FOREVER.


Are you away from Grandparents? Are they still alive, thank G-d? What makes or made time with them so gosh-darn special? You may have a poem lurking there! List five smells or items from their home–what images come to mind that you want to forever keep, take out, and savour?


A Juicy Discovery


It is quite juicy

to suddenly be able to

understand gossip,

to lean-in

learn, discover


I am at the core,

a RAVING busy body.

You see,

America means I am EVERYWHERE

at once,

in every booth

back office

check-out counter


mama talk

talking hushed voices

round the clock.

Like Jim Carrey when his ears

took on the job of Almighty G-d.

SO much! SO much!

And that’s only what was spoken aloud.

(Fahgetabout what is being shushhhed).

Then there are the murmurs, the sighs,

the oversensitive, overactive


which is all on overtime,

jet lag,

and sheer



mere comprehension.

can i get an “amen”?







photo by Flight Aware, Japan

I keep looking up

at the map

as I sail over


& measure time

by how fast

I inch towards

the Great Lakes

& over.

Keep studying

glancing up

moment to moment

as if it’s a subway map

written in Japanese

where at any moment,

my stop

could sneak up on me

& I could

quite accidentally, sail past.






weighing big things


You could spend your whole life


not wanting to cross any major streets for fear of being hit,

not even read fairy tales

because in those pages, there is always death


in a mole, on a witch,

in her jealousy,

a potential curse brewing,

seething, bubbling up.


I know someone

who never makes any left turns,

i swear.

i am not just being metaphorical.

only rights.


Can you imagine

your commute to work, a road trip,

your whole life

accrued in miles with only rights.


You could avoid trains

because you could get a sleeve or an arm in those fast shutting doors

or worse,

hear news that someone



You could fear

being a widow and never marry

your true heart’s love

because it would someday

be too sad.


You could have worried yourself into a tizzy,

into a hospital in Jerusalem

because you heard old reports of terror.


You could back into a sticky web of anxiety

and never take that lovely petal-lined walk

down a tulle-trimmed aisle.


You would have chosen against beauty that day,

declined the family who also chose you that day,

bestowing you with

pink pearls,

a silken kimono,

the someday children who would carry

their prayers, promises,




One breakout,

one left-hand turn


skinny-dip at night

into fear’s fuzzy wake,

into flight,

and immediately,

like my daughter squealing as she threw last night’s obscenely cold bath water

all over her,

pouring it out in pitcher-fulls,

know it is okay

to both live

and make mistakes.


Rather, you can get hooked on falling into the arms of grace.

Knowing there is a warm bath towel and a happy ending

at the end,

on your pillow,

in the tuck-in and

“good night”.


When did you choose love & jumping-off? There is one traceable moment for me in Colorado (the summer I met my Love), where I literally chose to leap off a little cliff into the Colorado River, deciding faith over “what ifs”. “My life is in Your Hands”, I offered before flinging myself off of the ground. 

Maybe your risks are Heath Crunch over vanilla, maybe BIG Faith, like calling off a wedding, stopping or starting medical treatment. Maybe it’s all big faith, Risk. Love. Life. 

When did something in you change to say no to fear and yes to faith?

Wild Horses

Thinking of how “Wild Horses” always reverberates for me.

Let’s do some livin, eh?

It’s easy to do.


or some hulking, shaggy-ankled Clydesdales,


I can’t let you slide through my hands“.

And even for a simple evening,

an obsessing pros and cons column

inside my nine year old field day limbs

push and pull

drag and lift

family with an ocean in between

and a bris

life and death

always on the forefront

emails with newborn pictures

love gushing

and also cancer.

Last time I was away

a wedding

a disaster

the tsunami

and a rift in communication

even for that second…

to visit some means leave more

and sometimes that is important,

my husband encourages.

Let’s do some living…

Sometimes it takes a lot to go,

even if for a brief,

very important,


& virtuous




secrets of the housewife kind


Supply & Demand

Also do not forget

the way your children smell,

the feel of your lips

on their sleeping foreheads

or the fleshy cheeks,

the just-right-



and looking back,

you, too,

may concede that their cries

were cute, too.


The physiology of need

as your mind goes tense

and milk is there,

to be sopped up,

used to nourish.

Your babies grow fat

and you feel proud,

the teamwork

of supply and demand.

The husband pointing-out

the modern art headboard

that is milk-splatter.

And I’ve even gotten my son

like a fire-hose

flashed across his face,

displayed in his baby soft hair.

We are in the business of making milk—

fatty, fortified,

sweet thigh milk.

And it is good work.

Have you ever suffered that wholly-cringe response where your baby is crying and a well-meaning stranger or family member is laughing? It is the WORST feeling and your body has its own physical, hormonal response. That laughter just wears on me, but I’d like to think I am getting more graceful in my responses. 

Any splash-worthy nursing experiences? I produced SO MUCH MILK with my first; even now with my son, we often wake up in a swimming pool of milk.