Common Core

I watched this YouTube video

all about math and how it weaves

its way into every inch of our lives.

Each moment, turn of a wheel,

turn of a combination 

lock, turn of a head

has a mathematical equation attached, some x to solve for, 

some function.

And my first thought

was whether or not

math could capture the speed

of my veins or the temperature 

of my blush as I think about you.

Could it quantify the cloudiness 

that blurs my logic and leaves

my tongue numb, twisted into quiet?

Could math find a way to make

You next to Me,

like 1 is next to 2?

Adam and Eve.

In the beginning. Maybe

math can make life whole again,

could find a way to fill

the gaps of too many days

between hello 

and too many reasons not to be

1 and 2.

Maybe it's just math that 

keeps us from adding up, 

a theorem of what cannot be.

But even numbers can be imaginary 

and still they find their way to the paper,

find their way to be real, to be seen.

That's not us. We are real,

but no one can see

and we can't say

and words and numbers fail.

But the math of you and me,

of 1 and 2,

takes me back to the start,

counting minutes til

we equal something 

more than the sum

of our parts.

Courage

2013 is going to be my year.  I can feel it.  In my heart, in my breathing, in everything I do, I know this is it.  I have been building toward this year my entire life.  Of course, that's true for every year, right?  every moment?  Each one is the result of all that came before it.  Maybe now I am just incredibly aware of that. And it is terrifying.

So, my One Little Word for 2013 is courage.

Courage reminds me of The Wizard of Oz. The Cowardly Lion seeking courage was always the character who resonated with me.  I had brains, I had heart, and I had home, but courage??  It has eluded me.  And the Lion is me.  I am not a believer in astrology, but for some reason, my Leo sign always felt like a perfect fit. I always thought it was the lion's mane, since I have a somewhat unhealthy obsession with my hair.  But I think it is also that the lion is the King.  My name actually means, "crowned one." I want to be a leader, I want to be the one in charge.  I want others to be safe and strong in my care. But deep inside, I am a coward.

I fear consequences.  I fear losing. I fear hurting people I love and even more, I fear being disliked because I have hurt them. I fear making mistakes and giving someone ammunition to tear me down and expose me for the fraud I am.  For all my big talk, I feel any bravery others might see in me is a facade.

But no more.  This year, the fear will be quieted and the courage will guide me.  I know the Wizard can't give it to me, but just like the Cowardly Lion, I will find it in my relationships with the people I love, the people who inspire me and probably, the people who oppose me.  My courage will come from my conscious daily choice to live my life informed by wisdom and hope rather than fear and inauthenticity.

In 2013, I am going to live with the courage it takes to be exactly who I am.

Shapeshifting

Lots going on lately; sometimes too much for words to contain. But I do have a poem to share. Hope you all are well.

Shapeshifting

My sons pretend they are
shapeshifters, bodies morphing
for purposes of good or evil.
Boy becomes dragon becomes
bird of prey -- fire-breathing
becomes feathered danger.

And I wonder
what shape I would choose,
how my heart might grow
stronger, my arms to wings.

And I wonder
what shape might move me
closer to being yours.

But make-believe only
makes my featherless arms
more heavy and my heart
weaker by its wanting.

And the fire burns my insides,
because I cannot breathe
a word of this.

Some Poems to Share

So, I fell off the Slice of Life Train, and thought I would get back into gear with National Poetry Month.  Last year, I completed the Slice of Life Challenge in March AND NaPoWriMo in April.  Consistency has not been my strength, in terms of writing, this year.  But sincerity has.  I am worrying less about response and more about speaking my truth.  So, even though I have not written a poem every day this month, I do have a few to share.

List
It would take a list
to tell you what I love
a list of names
of landmarks
of lost and found
It would take a list
to tell you what i love about
moments that melted time
like when your hand and mine
rested on a common countertop
and we laughed at an inside joke
and just for that half-second I saw
your eyes stop and and soften
and i knew that you
had a list, too.

Annotation
Sometimes I want to mark you
like a book,
drag my hot pink highlighter
right across your mouth
and in your margins,
scrawl a world like
"remember" or ask
"why?"
I would underline your eyes,
comment on your fingers
and before I was done,
I would certainly circle
your heart over and over
until my pen wore away
your skin (just a bit)
and the scar might make
you remember me.

My Faults

It's all my fault

The leaves falling fast

The moon's final phase

The way the days

Never seem to last

It's all my fault

Because I believed you

Thought I had to

If you were mine

If you and I

Were tied like twine

Knotted into one mess

That would always hold

But you never were

Mine or even yours

Earthquakes have no warning

Fault lines are pretend

Until they part ways

So I blame myself

Name myself the creator

Of the day’s end

The fall into forever

Crack in the earth

Birth of our demise

Before we were we

I am the red line

Thin on the map

Miles wide across landscape

I swallowed your lies

The fault is mine. 

When I Am Supposed to be Listening to You Speak

I think about your hands,

what they hold :

the remote control,

cold bottle of beer,

the doorknob for a moment too long,

the steering wheel when all you want to do

is drive,

the ballpoint pen when all you want to do

is write. 

I think about your hands,

what they hold:

a family together

you back

up your promises

down a job

everything in your fist

but not too tight

you let it breathe until it lights 

from your palm

free, but without 

the home of you, I think.

About your hands, 

They hold. 

Word Lover

I love the language

like you

the language you lean on

to let me know something I

shouldn't, the language you

let me lick from the space between us

I love the language you leave

inside your mouth

for as long as you can

until it becomes too much

for your tongue

and the only relief is writing it down

whispering it into text, tiny letters

that tell me tell me tell me,

"I love the language. Like you."

'Cause I'm Sick SOLSC Day 13

"Can I have some water, Momma?" my five-year-old croaked from his bed.  He had just woken up and I assumed the water request was really just a plea for my attention.  About fifteen minutes later, I heard vomiting in the boys' bathroom.  When I hurried in there, the little guy said, "Told you my belly hurt, Momma." 

"No, sweetie, you asked for water."
 
"Oh yeah, I forgot to say I wanted water 'cause my belly hurt and I was sick."

And so began the day.  I have to give it to Lucas, though.  He isn't a whiner.  He simply tries to make sense of it all.

Can I have cereal, Momma?
No, no milk when you are sick.
Oh, when I am sick, I can't have drinks?
You can drink, but let's stick to water.
Oh, can I have dry cereal then?
Sure.

Five minutes later:

Can I have cereal, Momma?
More cereal?  Maybe you should wait.
Oh, I have to only eat one time when I am sick.
No, but let's give that time to settle.

Thirty minutes later:

Can I have a popsicle, Momma? And cereal?
Just the popsicle, dear.
Oh when I am sick I can only eat one food at a time?

Followed by more questions all day long:

When I am sick, I have to eat slow, Momma?
When I am sick, I can't have jelly, Momma?
When I am sick, I have to only hug, but not kiss, Momma?
Can I dance when I am sick, Momma?
When I am sick, I can't eat all of the popsicles, Momma?
Can I have some more cereal, then, Momma, 'cause I'm sick?

Maybe by the time he is better, he will have this sick thing all figured out. I'm pretty sure that I won't, though.

Cupcakes and the Courthouse (SOLSC Day 9)

We teased Michael today.  We were in the car, discussing the Elliott curse -- surely bestowed upon my husband's Irish ancestors by a peeved leprechaun -- and lamenting light-heartedly about the bad luck we often seem to have.  Michael agreed with our curse conspiracy theory and added that he too had felt the harsh blow of the Elliott bad luck.  Just the other day, he had dropped his cupcake at school and then proceeded to smash it accidentally with the leg of his chair.  We teased him and said that it wasn't bad luck, it was God's way of telling him he didn't need the cupcake.  The five of us laughed and ribbed each other a bit more, making the most of our unplanned drive.

And tonight I realized that my husband and I had made the same mistake as our son.  You see, the drive today was necessitated by a traffic citation that had been oddly processed by a courthouse 90 minutes from us.  The courthouse only gives information through pre-recorded message, so the only way to resolve the traffic citation's mix up was to appear in person. The line at the courthouse ribboned out of the office doors; my husband waited in the line, 25 people ahead of him.  And after the hour long wait, we were back in the car and on our way back home, but with the LA traffic, the return trip took twice as long. 

Hence, our discussion of the Elliott curse.

But we had it all wrong.  This inconvenient, somewhat frustrating, definitely stressful citation situation was not a punishment, but a blessing.  An entire afternoon with all of us together -- the boys brought books to read and for the most part, bickering was absent.  Sunshine spilled over the Spring-worthy blue skies and the
warmth of the afternoon lulled us into a sleepy state.  We teased, but we also laughed and listened and learned.  It was exactly what we needed -- an afternoon of togetherness and a bit of peace.  Today was our smashed cupcake and I thought it was wonderful.

Sometimes We Have to Stretch (SOLSC Day 7)

There are nights when I wish my arms could hold all my boys at the same time. Instead, I end up feeling too small to be a momma. I can't protect my guys from all bad things, I know that. But tonight I needed to protect them from a good thing. Two of the boys and my husband are involved with Kung Fu and tonight, the younger if the two sons earned a sash higher than his older brother. I know I am not the only parent who has faced this, but until now, the family hierarchy had never been upset and although eventually all was fine, it was a challenge to balance enjoying one son's elation while mending the other son's wounded pride. Since my arms aren't long enough to hold them all together and love them so hard that they have to let go of any negative feelings, instead I had to hold them each on their own and whisper whatever they needed to hear: "Work hard and you will reach your goals," "I am so proud of you!" "I love you no matter what," "You are lucky to have your brother," "Thank you for being kind," and "I am always here for you." Until my arms grow, my words will have to do.