If I could
I would write it
In bright red paint
On the tallest shining building
In the middle of Houston,
that building we saw
when we were riding the train . . .

I would paint it in red
For you to see
I would take you there
Every single day
So you would know
And so everyone would know

People walking on the street
Would see it
and would see us
And would know
That the words were mine,
And that they were for you.
I would be brave
And look straight back at them
While they looked their judgement
at me -

I would do this for you
If I could.

Every day
We would go and look
And come back home.
We will have feelings
That we can't explain,
We can't put in an envelope
and send away,
We will not be able to
gobble up and forget -
Because we both saw
The huge red letters
On the sides of the building,
Shining the gigantic city
Right into our faces.

At home,
Speaking low,
Remembering the letters -
what they said -
It will be
Iron on string
In the middle of our stomachs
For many, many days.

After awhile
We will just stop going back
Because the letters will fade
The rain and the wind and the sun
Will take them away
Perhaps there will even be a day -
Long from now
When we go back into that city,
That we will ride the train
Right by that mirror building -
And the letters will be gone.

Perhaps you won't even notice the building
Glittering to the right
As the train glides past . . .
You will smile straight ahead,
But I will shut my eyes
So tight . . .

And in a very long time
The building will be too old
So they will tear it down,
Something better will take its place . . .

Then, under a Christmas tree,
years and years from now,
All in our circle,
Shining faces, colors, lights, paper,
We will remember
trips to the beach
nights we played games
watched movies, slept in the living room
with popcorn scattered to pick up in the morning
And one will say -

"Didn't you paint something in red
A very long time ago . . .
I just hardly remember."

I hope so.

Four

From their mouths,
my praise
and in their hands,
my world . . .

I do not deserve it.

Fingerprints on windows
Crayon etchings on the walls
Chubby hands around my neck
Sloppy, happy kisses
after eating ice cream . . .

The oldest one
with golden hair
and a serious face,
she loves to pat my hand,
my arm,
look at my face
with uncertain eyes
and smile a smile
that asks a question

The little girl
with golden hair
and big, happy eyes
loves to make me pictures,
five pictures a day,
and ask me if I like them
and tell me what she drew,
who the people are . . .
and tack the scrawly, rainbow sheets
to my bedroom door

The stocky little boy
Three years old
Full of hugs
and bounce and tackle,
"Watch me, Mamma!
Look at the truck!
It lost its wheel! OH!"
Full of laughing
and kisses
and, "You're my best friend!"
His presence about the house
Hangs in the air
Like a thousand exclamation points.

The baby,
Chubby, drooling, smiling,
Nibbling, making faces,
grabbing my earrings,
leaning in for kisses,
snuggling to sleep,
my little man
whispy, fuzzy blonde hair
that is good to nuzzle
while he gazes up
with trusting blue eyes;
He feels so safe.

Four lined up
My ducks in their row
My world in their hands
I wish I deserved them,
And work to give them
What they deserve.

Caffeine

Venti with a double shot
It keeps the shakes away
for today

Bittersweet flavor,
husky and full
warm going down,
it gives my mouth
something to do
and my brain
something to think

At work a little early
No one is here
Papers to grade
Grades to record
Parents to tell . . .

Early
and there's time
Time -
to get the work done,
and to remember again -
it's quiet,
and I am lonely

That double shot will kick in
Give it a minute

It is quiet

Drink the coffee slowly

Barren

There must be a place
Where trees have never grown
Nothing to cut down
No scars left behind

A clear field
Never meant for anything else
A clear path
Nothing else to navigate
Nothing to make you trip
No way you could fall down

It must be someplace -
Green and untouched
Flowers there
Tall grass
Peaceful
You can watch the sunset
You can breathe easy,
breathe deep;
You can close your eyes
and smile.

A place
Never meant to sustain trees
Never meant to have things
that could be taken away
Just a place
All its own
No fear of loss or scars
Just green and blue and yellow
and free

I want to see it.

Changes

I'm wondering
what you'd find
if you came by -
would you be
too surprised?

I wonder if my questions
would bother you
or if you'd have the answers
or if you'd try to answer,
even if you didn't know

I wonder after we talked for awhile,
just a little while
over a cup of coffee
or whatever you'd like,
what would you think
about the things I say?

I wonder if you would be patient
and love me anyway
not for what I used to be
or what you wish that I still was
but for this in-transition me,
the one who doesn't know
who I will be later

And I wonder if you will like
the later me

I want to keep all that we've shared -
you are so important;
if you came by, I would tell you that
and that I cannot stop
what I could not keep from starting.

Come by today
or tomorrow
Come next week
I will still be here
and I will need you
and treasure you
and hope that after our visit
you will come back again

The Music

Driving in
and the music
it helps
it helps a little

I'm rising and falling
on violin swells
like ocean breakers -
rising
and my heart rises -
falling;
the violin sings

Soothing -
I hear the deep-voiced horns
and the brassier ones
they blend
with piano, flutes, drum . . .
Sounds that I could never make
Sounds I want to hear

The music rises up around me,
protecting.
A voice -
with song, but no words.
There don't have to be words.
I have only feelings now anyway,
as I listen

The music washes over me,
And I'm caught up.
not here - I am with the music
It covers over,
heaing the wounded places.

Driving in -
that line of headlights
that lump in my stomach
that knowledge of things a mile ahead . . .
The music helps
just a little
for now.

You followed me all day today
And I am glad you did

I was thinking, you know, I am 32 now . . .
and so were you -
32 for one month.
I have been 32 for six months.
Though I have lived to see an age you never did,
I will always see your face more aged than mine.

You drove down with me tonight
And I listened to the song
that we played for you.
You would have laughed (we did) -
at your funeral,
Grandma's sister leaned up to Daddy
and said,
"Sebert, I think I want someone
to play the fiddle
at my funeral!"
Daddy chuckled and said,
"I think I do to!"
That piece is so beautiful -
she meant the long run
with the violins;
every time I hear it, I swell;
I am happy -
you come to my mind.
The music we played for you was different.
Everyone mentioned it;
It was not like a funeral.
It was more like you.

Afterward,
Mamma was nervous
trying to write a check one day,
but it bothered her so bad,
she shook and cried -
I had to write it for her.
Don't know why I remember that.

Your friends had your medals
mounted on a polished piece of wood.
They gave it to us,
then Daddy cried.
I had to leave the room.

They bought a big house
but we never liked it
it just wasn't them;
they have a different one now
with a big yard, trees all around.
The house is smaller, but we all like it better.
I think you would, too.

I looked for a long time
down, down into the water today
as I rode from the Island
over to Point Bolivar.
I waited for the dolphins to show up,
and on the ride back to the Island,
they did -
cutting the calm surface,
gliding in semi circles
to disturb the birds floating there.
The water connected us today,
the dolphins too -
You loved both of them.
I could swear you were standing at my shoulder
laughing at the dolphins
sliding to the surface,
graceful games,
friendly in the water . . .

So many shells, scattered out for miles . . .
something to add to my collection . . .
when you were in Italy, you found some for me.
I was just sad
that someone had to deliver them for you.
But thank you for remembering
how much I liked them.

Your friend sat with us on the porch
days before the funeral -
I was wearing gray pants
and a blue sweater set.
"He talked about you a lot," your friends' gaze set on me,
My gaze shot to the brown boards beneath my feet -
I choked.
I know how you bragged
How you always told me to study hard
How you told your friends about my grades
One of them told me
how, when you found out about Eliza,
you bought a round of drinks.

We have pictures of you and Trevor -
his stubby arm
just reaching the tip of your pinkie -
you and he
in the backyard
in the leaves;
I cried, because Eliza was six months old;
you never saw her.
Daddy said,
"I think he has seen her . . ."
Now I have four.
And Trevor is much older -
You would have adored them,
two nieces, three nephews -
They would have adored you,
and I will make sure
That they know you.

Thanks for hanging out with me this weekend,
walking with me on the beach,
watching the dolphins . . .
I'm sorry I got sad
and that I told you some sad things,
but I really miss you,
and sometimes I just want to talk to you about it.

Thanks for what you left with us.

4-11-2009