NaPoWriMo #22: Wordle

ReadWritePoem challenged us to use these words in a poem: dizzy, squall, crow, fierce, flinch, tomorrow, emporium, reverberate, pepper, tendril, saffron, rust.  I managed three of them.
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The sun shimmers
on the pond
as I sit in my son’s
new home

He and my husband
are talking motorcycles
their conversation
peppered with timers

heads, pistons, flywheels
until I’m dizzy.
Tomorrow, they have
a landscaping project

and while they are doing that,
I’ll go to the bookstore
to check out the poetry
books and to Michael’s

for cool pens. Then, I’ll
sit on the deck and read.
Right now, I have a glass
of wine waiting

and more stimulating
bike talk. And the sun
is shining
at my son’s.

NaPoWriMo Day 21: Rite of Passage

Erin sat on the washing machine
I took the toilet seat, camera in hand
Gary stood next to Nathan
who was in front of the sink.

I can still see how gingerly
Nay spread the shaving cream
on his face, tapping it into place
creating peaks and valleys

Then came the razor with a new blade
and I held my breath
as he scraped those beautiful baby cheeks
that I had kissed and kissed and kissed

Later, I wiped away the foam
from the sink and washed
the stray hairs of my son’s childhood
down the drain.

NaPoWriMo Day 7: Nicknames

The Evolution of a Nickname

The ocean,
blue sky,
sailboat

Nathan
just learning
to talk

My father-in-law,
“Say Grampa”
pronounced Grumpa

His German girlfriend
“Say danka,
come on, danka”

Nay is more interested
in watching the water,
seeing birds dive,

feeling the wind
in his face.
Later, his grandfather

kisses him goodbye.
“Bye bye, Gunka”
Nay says.

And Gunka
he has remained
to this day.

Poetry Train: The clouds are Bruises

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The clouds are bruises
outside my window
full of purple tears.

I wish I was lying on the beach
in Hawaii again, looking up at
the animal clouds, and
digging my feet into
the cool underlayer of sand
and watching Nay
try to surf.

He is a ballet dancer on skis
but here in the ocean he is
an elephant trying to waltz
flipping and flopping and flubbing up.
I can hear the waves chuckling
As they toss him once more.

But he is a golden boy and never
gives up.
I smile with pride
and know he will succeed
because the future is mapped
out in the friendly clouds.

I wish I was back there
feeling the warm sun
warm my son.

This is not a poem about
the past;
this is a poem about
the improbable,
about elephants that
leave the sky
and dance
on surfboards.

Day 26 NaPoWriMo

A Wound April 10. 2008

Did you ever take
your bicycle
and position
the training wheels
so that the back wheel
of the bike
was over a hole?

Then climb on
and pedal like crazy
but not go anywhere?

My son did that
with encouragement
from some friends

only Nay somehow
got his hand in the chain.

Crunch, scream
blood, dirt
crying, yelling
blood, blood

Where was I when this was happening?
How could I let my little guy
get hurt like this?

Why hadn’t I sealed him
in a capsule
away from the monster
bicycles of life?