One Single Impression: Shells

Shells

She's wearing
her Hello Kitty
bathing suit
today. We walk
along the beach
at Cayo Costa
State Park
in Florida.
We are looking
for butterfly shells.

That's what Kylie
calls them. When
they are open,
they look like they
could fly away.
Her favorites
are pure white
like angel wings.
Mine are the ones
that look like sunrises.

She finds a half one
and picks it up
to discover
it's still alive.
She helps it
back to the water.
"If the shell is empty,
does that mean
it's dead?" she asks.
"I'm afraid so."

She's quiet for a moment.
"My dad took a bunch
of pills and I
couldn't wake him up."
We walk hand-in-hand
for a minute. "You
we're so smart
to call your mom
and get help for him."
I squeeze her hand.

She bends down
to pick up another shell.
This one is pale pink.
She examines it
for life and finds
it pulsing.
In the water it goes.
"Let's just look
for live ones
from now on."

3WW: Affinity, Fidget, Mention-Cascade Poem

Kylie and I went to the movies
and because she has an affinity for chocolate,
I bought her a box of Sno Caps.

We sat in the unnatural moon shine
of the screen munching, munching.
Did I mention Kylie and I went to the movies?

When we got home, she asked if she could eat
the remainder of the Sno Caps
because she has an affinity for chocolate.

Without thinking about how much she’d already had,
I said yes. When we got in bed all she did was fidget.
I so regret that I bought her a box of Sno Caps.

3WW: Buckle, Evade, Wedge

I caught the pink wedge
of dawn with my camera
this morning.

Our cold northern sky
was trying hard to evade
the sun

but, for a few minutes
it peeked through
with fiery eyes.

Then, the gray clouds
buckled back up
to the mountains.

But, it's okay
because, upstairs
my granddaughter

sleeps. I can't wait
for her to rise. I'll have
sunshine all day.

NaPoWriMo #21: Perfection/Imperfection & Monday Poetry Train

The Perfection of a Four-year-old

Kylie is working
on math
in an activity book.

7-3=?
Seven fingers go up
in the air

and three get covered.
4 she writes
“Great,” I say.

And on she goes
until she gets to
11-5=?

She opens her hands
and counts
only ten fingers

Perplexed, she guesses
5, then goes on
to the next problem.

But then she thinks
about it
and knows she’s wrong.

This time she counts
an imaginary finger,
erases the 5,

and replaces it with 6.
When she’s done the page,
I correct her answers

and put 100% at the top.
She shakes her head,
draws a line

through her grade,
and writes 1X
instead.

Monday poetry Train: Celebration

Celebration

“Grammy, can you sing
me a song”? says Kylie
as we snuggle in bed.

So I sing “On the Good
Ship Lollipop” again
and again. “Now, your

turn.” I tell her. She
sings a dinosaur song
she learned in preschool.

Then she asks for a story
so I make up one about
Bad Penelope who likes

to pinch. She’s still not
sleepy so we play
Guess the Letter.

I “write” a letter on her
back and she tries to
figure out what it is

in between giggles.
Then she writes on
on mine. Back and

forth we go, laughing.
After that we just lie
there talking. Her voice

gets quieter and quieter.
She whispers, “I love you,
Grammy.” “I love you, too.”

Poetry Train: The Sad

Kylie and I
are snug in a recliner
watching Snow White
and the Seven Dwarfs.

When Snow White
is in her glass coffin,
I think of my mom
in pain and how close

she’s come to death.
Kylie wipes tears away.
She sniffles
and says, “Sometimes

the sad comes out
through my nose.”
I reach for a tissue
and give Kylie a hug.

Laundry for TOP

Laundry

When Kylie
comes to visit,
I like to wash
her clothes
and hang them
on the line.

Her little Levis
next to Grampy’s:
long and short
blue legs
kicking the breeze.

Her ruffled white shirt
near my plain
black one:
piano keys
tapping out
a timeless
tune.

Two clothespins
hold Dora the Explorer
underwear.
Her panties
have ears!

Her tiny pink socks
in between
our longer ones:
wagging tongues
carrying on
a conversation
in the Downy-scented air.

The clothesline
sags in the middle,
grinning.

Sunday Scribblings: Anticipate

Flies land like raindrops
on the mirror canal.

A foot-long fish
jumps for supper

making the reflection
of trees shimmer.

Evening settles
like a shawl

on my mother’s shoulders.
Then Erin calls

and asks me to baby sit
Kylie next weekend.

I smile in anticipation:
oldest to youngest.

The sun sets
behind lemon clouds.

I grab my camera
and snap away the day.

NaPoWriMo Day 23: Quote for TOP

It all depends on how we look at things, and not on how things are in themselves. The least of things with a meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without it. ~Carl Jung
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Kylie wakes up
with a smile
on her face.

I put the shade up
and see a gray,
rainy day.

“It’s so yucky
out there,”
I say to her.

She replies,
“I think
it’s beautiful.”

So, I take
another look
through the diamonds

on the window.
The clouds
are a down comforter,

jonquil spears
are drinking
thirstily,

and the grass
has turned
green.

Yes, my smart
Kylie girl,
it is beautiful.

Cinquain for TOP: She Sleeps

I wrote this one this morning while watching the news on television and watching my granddaughter sleep in between my husband and me while the wind was howling in the -12 degree morning.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Innocence

She sleeps
while the wind bombs
and trees shiver with fright.
War flashes on TV, but still
she sleeps.

First for TOP

I wrote at least three "first" poems this week and they were all terrible. So...

I wrote this over three years ago just after our first glimpse of Kylie. We thought for sure she was going to be a boy. The ultrasound was a twenty-minute video. (Gary is my husband.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Ultrasound: 23 weeks

This hand-sized little man
resting in his La-Z-Boy womb

just passing the time playing
with his umbilical cord.

He crosses his feet,
stretches out
…yawns…
examines his toes,
scratches his cheek

a miniature Gary
fiddling impatiently
practicing for when he’ll have
a remote in his hand.

Sound for TOP

I have no idea how to incorporate sound for my poetry so here's a poem I wrote about my granddaughter, Kylie's, first smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Sound of a Smile

I hear music

when you smile,

notes tinkling

in the air

and swirling

in a merry dance.

On this day

in cold February

the tune

was a summer

waltz, slow

and easy,

thawing out

our winter

hearts.

Free Prompt for TOP: The Letter K

My granddaughter's name is Kylie so when I gave my poetry-writing students the assignment of taking a letter and meditating on it, K came to my mind immediately.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Meditation on the Letter K

Three sticks make a K:
one long and two short ones.
This K is a peacemaker
offering a resting spot
for the two upstart
short sticks
that want to head
their separate ways.

K is picky, not showing
up in too many words,
but when he does,
he’s often with his sidekick C.
They are like Dick and Jane,
Barbie and Ken, Frick and Frack,
Kermit and Miss Piggy,
Captain Kirk and Dr. Spock.

K’s are masculine verbs
helping us walk, talk, pick,
snicker. They are cabooses
kicking us along.

A K says yes with
with every okay
but whispers
when he’s at the head
of the pack
leading us on to sparks
of knowledge.

On bended knee, a K
waits for acknowledgment
and a kiss.

Our Kylie started
as just a speck,
a look between her folks,
a knock on the door,
a quick smile.

Now, though, she has grown
into the capital K of her name
with two feet exploring
and an arm stretched out
ready to catch the package
of life.

Tempo for Totally Optional Prompts

We made it back from our trip to Florida then had company for four days. I haven't been very inspired for almost a month, now, and it was driving me nuts! Then on Tuesday we took our granddaughter to the beach for her first visit and she just loved the waves and an idea started to percolate in my previously dull brain. Today I hopped on my bicycle and rode to Ocean Park Beach and wrote the following poem. It's not the most original but I feel like the tempo of my life has resumed. (And I managed to get "tempo" in there!)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Kylie watches
the swells
grow huge
with laughter.

She jumps
up and down
waiting
for the mirth

to break
all over her
like I’ve
been watching

words far out
in the ocean
building
with thoughts,

becoming pregnant,
closer and closer
until they cascade
onto this page.

Then I laugh.

Unexpected

For Writer's Island
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Colors

Blue and trucks,
racecars.
No pink, certainly.

Convinced you are a boy,
Dominic Derek.
Who can argue
with the needle test?
And a slow heartbeat?
And that thing
we saw
when you moved
during your ultrasound?

We knew you were a boy,
a new little snowboarder,
a fisherman.
There you were in your father’s arms,
love dripping from his eyes.

My little girl
now a mother
gathered in my arms
sharing the knowledge
of labor and pain
and birthing a son.

Big eyes,
a smile full of wonder,
words that float
in the air
but don’t penetrate.
“Mom, it’s a girl!”

A girl?
My ears are ready
for blue words;
they don’t comprehend
these pink birds
fluttering,
fluttering,
finally finding a home
in my heart.

Ruffles and dolls
Mother
Daughter.
Mother
Daughter.

Why I Am Alive

For TOP January 31, 2008
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The bathroom needs to be cleaned,
laundry needs to be done.
These thoughts are nets
binding arms and hearts.

Making supper every night is boring.
Changing sheets, dusting, vacuuming.
A dirge sung by clouds
in shades of gray.

Then Kylie comes to visit
in her two-year-old radiance
She is an orange tree
growing in January snow.

“I count to ten in Swahili.”
she announces.
“Moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano,
sita, saba, nane, tisa, kumi."

“Wow! Can you teach
that to Grandma?”

“Moooooojaaaaaaaaa”

Kylie
Grandma
Kylie
Grandma

The teacher is taught.

After she leaves,
zipping all that freshness
into her jacket
and taking it with her,

moja, clean the bath
mbili, strip the bed
tatu, start washing machine
nne, dust
tano, wash kitchen floor
sita, put sheets in dryer
saba, vacuum
nane, water the plants
tisa, make the bed
kumi, write this poem.

New

We'll be going out of town this weekend so I won't have a chance to write a new poem. This is the first one that popped into my head when I saw the prompt so figured I'd post it even though I wrote it two years ago just after my granddaughter was born.

The page is from an accordion book I made. I had my poetry writing students make one and I did it along with them. It had to have a theme and mine was all the things that make me smile.

Kylie Love
A fluff of dark feathers
resting in the cup
of my palm.
The top of your head
is a perfect vortex
and our love circles
around and around
spiraling into you.

Favorite Holiday Memory

Sunday Scribblings for December 23, 2007

Two years ago, my grandaughter was born just before Christmas. Here's a cinquain about that holiday.

Others
open presents.
I sit with the weight of
my first grandchild on my lap,
smiling.

Three Word Wednesday: Today I Carried

This is my first post for 3WW. I just recently discovered blogging and the wonderful poets in poetry blog world. I'm having a blast visiting all the cool and inspirational sites.



One thing I haven't quite figured out how to do is leave a link to a certain poem in my blog. I've been studying others and think I have it and will try with this one. I did not know how to do it when I left the link for my Totally Optional Prompt poem this week. So, if you are looking for that one, please just scroll down a bit and you'll find it.



----------------------------------------------------------



3 Word Wednesday Words for November 7, 2007

compensation modern radio

-----------------------------------------------------------

Today I carried
a pile of laundry
downstairs
into the cellar

sorted it by colors
then did three loads.

I washed the hardwood
floor in the living room
and vacuumed,

cleaned the bathroom
(my favorite chore!)

all in the static
of Saturday morning.

Then the phone rang
and my daughter’s voice
turned the radio
of my day
into music.

Her pure liquid
notes sang modern
tunes in my antiquated
ears.

And then as if in compensation
for those hours of toil,
she asked me to baby sit
tomorrow.

I sang along
with the Bare Naked Ladies'
“If I Had a Million Dollars”
as I folded
warm clothes
in the rich afternoon.