parents

June 7, 2023

SO TO SPEAK

One of the obvious problems
with growing older is the tendency
to begin using phrases you always detested
when young: “back in the day,” and it’s
equivalents maddened you in your youth
and are now a common element of your vernacular.

Worse still is the knowledge that the days
which you seem to lovingly recall
weren’t all that good as you lived them,
rendered less so, you then believed, by
your parents’ endless references
to the good old days, when you knew
that days were fixed periods, an astronomical
phenomenon, and there was nothing
the least bit good or bad about them.

But you stop and take solace that
the grimaces of your grandchildren’s faces
when you use the expression will one day,
soon enough, be given over to their use.

May 17, 2023

PIGGIES

I have to stop and wonder if
there is a parent alive who
hasn’t gently pulled on the toes
of achild too young to object
and recited “this little piggy.”
And of course most children giggle
but not for the reason the parents
suspect or hope, but at the sight
of a large person turning into
a somewhat ridiculous child.
If they could comprehend just
what was said in that always
slightly squeaky voice parents
adopted for the verse, they would
point out that they got strained peas
and peaches and such, and that
no good pig, or toe for that matter,
ever ate roast beef, for they
prefer a much sloppier meal.

May 4, 2023

UPWARD

The young child stares up into the sky
and sees in the infinite space
countless worlds take form and then die.

On the mesa coyotes cry
seeing gods in what men deface
the young child stares up into the sky

hears his ancestors’ mournful reply
in an atom’s interstitial space
countless worlds take form and then die.

Inside he sees his parents embrace
he would never think to ask them why
the young child stares up into the sky

At the edge of the sun, great planes fly
drop their payloads, return to their base
countless worlds take form and then die.

Tanks and Humvees simply mystify
as young soldiers, brothers wave goodbye
the young child stares up into the sky
countless worlds take form and then die.

First Appeared in The Globe Review, Issue 2, April 2023
https://heyzine.com/flip-book/4f02f9b80a.html

May 3, 2023

PEKING

Chi-Chi was a cute peke
in a very “runt of the litter”
sort of way, cuddly but
hardly the show dog
her breeders had intended.
I asked why she was called
Chi-Chi and my father searched
and showed me her AKC
papers, with the full name
that would’ve made those
of Spanish royalty
pause to consider the brevity
of their seemingly endless names.
She was a simple joy, followed me
around like a furry ankle bracelet.
She loved most everyone, she
was loved in return, save
for the always angry neighbor
and for him she transmuted
into a true lion dog of China
guarding the gates of the palace.

April 1, 2023

ON ITS HEAD

Death has an uncanny knack
for turning normalcy on its head.
My mother was never ready
at the time my parents had to leave
either selecting outfits
or jewelry, the right shoes,
as my father stood by fidgeting
and looking at his watch,
knowing better than to say anything.
Yet she left without notice,
no delays at all, just suddenly gone
so unlike her to make a simple exit.
And he, the man who was always
punctual, who left at the exact
moment planned save for her issues,
he lingered, a slow departure
by inches, fading away, until
only a shell of the man remained
and that, too, finally slipped away.

March 25, 2023

CONCEIVE OF THIS

No child, no youth
wants to imagine the moment
of his or her conception.
Now, that is the moment of personhood
in some places, a moment when
two cells become one and is
a life of its own, but it isn’t
the convergence of sperm and ovum
we avoid, but the act leading to it.
When you are an adoptee
and only later in life discover
your now dead birthparents
that moment, that scene
is a small void in your life
among larger voids you want to,
but cannot ever, seem to fill,
so it is left to your imagination
of time, place, circumstances
and ultimately action, but you ensure
that scene ends moments before conception.

March 24, 2023

RADIOACTIVE

I cannot say for certain which day
I became the familial isotope,
but I know my parents began
accreting neutrons not long
after their marriage, bound
to their mutual core, unbound
from me, adopted into the family,
and I then became the isotope
of the family but remote,
easily enough forgotten,
when I was not present.
That is, I suppose, one possible
fate for an isotope, it’s familial
half-life up and then forgotten.

But perhaps it was just
that I was the family’s
Schrödinger’s cat, finally put
in a box into which
no one chose to look.

March 18, 2023

UNDER THE BED

There was a ghost
or two for a short while,
that lived under my bed
when I was three or four.

My mother said they
were not real, she couldn’t
see them when she looked,
so they were all in my mind.

I had to tell her that you
don’t ever actually see ghosts,
you just know they are there
because you sense their presence.

Mother’s ghost visited me
last night in my dreams, but
I reminded her that she didn’t
believe ghosts exist, and returned
to the dream she interrupted
and she . . . oh I don’t know what
she did, but she wasn’t there
and I suspect will not return,
which is entirely fine by me.

February 16, 2023

A MOMENT

It is 1952, April, and I
am handed to the woman.
I am wrapped in a thin blanket,
the tall man is standing beside her.
I do not recall this, but this
is how it must have happened,
she finally a mother, he
a father despite infertility.
I do not recall her, the woman
who perhaps never held me
once I exited her body, who
hid me for nine months.
I mourn her now, knowing
she acted out of love, with hope
for me, but only the headstone
is her touch on my hand.

First appeared in Constellations: A Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Volume 12, Fall 2022

February 12, 2023

GOOD RIDDANCE

I still marvel at the way
the mind can rewrite
the narrative arc of memories,
taking away sharp edges,
eroding or erasing some
too painful to relive, and
bringing others out
from deep storage, some
largely forgotten, to be
battled with in dreams,
demons wrestled to submission.

In my dreams I have had
a final conversation with
my step-sibling, who
told me of my father’s
death in a text message,
who never delivered my
nominal share of either
parents estate, who made
it clear I did not matter,
and in the dream I
pronounced him
dead to me and buried him
in a place my memory
can and will not visit.