I’m parked and looking over a park
Man, you would love this one
I’ll have to bring you here sometime.
I am exhaling a deep sigh,
Taking a breather. From you.
I know I can be an ass. I know that my patience runs thin and I get into my moods.
I know I’m snippety and judgemental and can work from primary colors
I know you know I’m only human (thank god)
And I appreciate that you still come to me when I call (thank you)
You will never get this since we removed your testicles,
but it’s hard being a parent, man.
No matter how much shit I’ve dealt with, there’s still so much more.
And I’m only human.
I. Am. Only. Human.
My imperfections can have scary faces and ugly temperaments (even to me)
Being a parent means being a better version of myself
And sometimes I don’t want to do that.
Sometimes I want to be the ‘youngen,’ the child, the receiver.
I want to chuck tantrums and throw all responsibility out the window
Every single piece of it.
Continue reading “dear jackie”
Monday afternoon in bed.
The sound of lawn being mowed in the distance
The sound of a plane zooming by
Planes make me think of my father
And how time stands still when you look up
The clouds, the moon, butterflies, how light dances for us…
My mind races
I want to do so many things
The list can feel debilitating
And then my dog weighs his head on my lap
His nose prevents me from typing.
Stop, he gently suggests.
I am making space for you, my dear old friend
Nature, Grace, Divinity.
I am carving it out.
Making space for you to guide me forward, what to do next.
The creative burst that’ll poke its head from around the corner, wooing me to –
Come this way.
Continue reading “I carve this for you”
Hey there Jackie,
Happy 1 year anniversary
We love you to the moon and back. ♥
It is tense, concerned and contracted.
It’s early, the air asleep.
We got broken into. The garage.
Jackie thinks, bonus! everyone’s up.
Dude, I don’t want to take you out for pee.
I don’t want to pick up your poo.
I don’t want to feed you.
I want to breathe.
Give me a second.
What the fuck happened?
Holes in the skin, I feel violated.
Like a car crash.
Thank God it wasn’t the car.
Valuables, inventory, a guessing game of what was.
Jackie’s diarrhea is at the ready.
He paces in circles, tail anxious.
Come on people, he wants to say.
It’s on us, all of it.
Hard not to point fingers.
But who fuckin’ cares?
Damage is done.
The lesson came too late.
Diarrhea out. Next step: food.
Jackie circles us expecting the normal routine.
We stand like fixtures
Scratching our heads.
A fog in the brain.
The day has come.
My man returns.
Like a marathoner, I have ripped through the silk ribbon finale.
Ok, now give me my medallion.
The fear of going at this kid alone.
The fear of having to entertain, maintain, and remain a diligent parent –
The fear of him take, take, taking from me –
It lives larger in my head.
When are you gonna realize, he’s a good boy.
A kind, generous, loving, boy.
No high maintenance here.
And yet, I keep thinking he’ll take, take, take from me.
Continue reading “take take take”
A pain so sharp, it cuts.
Senses are lost in a fog, come back soon.
And there’s a void.
A real one.
Why did he have to go?
Heart beats heavy sighs and legs demand a slower pace.
It takes a million years for arms to move this way and that.
Three weeks is a very long time..
And yet, benign.
I think of those who’ve passed.
Like the pictures of Ron Heren, taped to the fatal pole, the one that ended his life.
A corner where Jackie and I must wait for the lights to change.
Leaving your loved one is like a death.
And yet, so benign.
Continue reading “tomorrow”
I ache for silence.
I yearn for space, for quiet.
The A/C blares, this’ll help for now.
I push the Creator up and out, write!
Hurray! We don’t have time.
An old voice.
Late night indecision based on waiting up for love and hoping to finish that podcast.
Jackie, quiet and sleepy.
Thank God. I feel tension release when I see this.
Continue reading “explode like a motherfucker”