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Posts Tagged ‘childhood’

Some Call it Noise

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on May 21, 2013| 5 Comments »

“Mom,” he says,
“I love this note.”
I sit beside my boy
on the bench
and I say, “It’s a D,
a low D.”
And he plays
the white key
again and again
and again and
again with animal
ferocity. “Can you find
another D?” I ask,
and he finds another,
to my delight, and another
and another and another.
Then he plays the Ds
with two hands—
one a bass and one
a thrumming, heavy beat.
Again, again,
again, again,
his body is a-thrill
with it. “I love this note,”
he says again,
his eyes electric,
wild with tone,
“Mom”, he says,
“will you write
this down?
Please mom,”
he begs, as he
hammers the Ds
with an almost
violent grace.
While he sleeps,
I draw the darksome notes
in his rhythmic trance
on two otherwise empty staves.
The notes are the Union
Pacific westbound;
and they are the boy,
his feet eager as he pounds
across the field;
and they are the railing
of hail in the orchard;
and they are the hands
of a boy who is banging
out his rampant joy, freed
from a language
dipped in lead,
God, he’s free,
he is pushing all of himself
into D; and they are
the boulders
tumbled by snowmelt,
thundering along
the full riverbed;
the sound of the heart
when it beats for no reason
except that it
was made to beat.

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Lost

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 10, 2013| 2 Comments »

It was the scent
that drew me there
to the edge of the woods,
the heavy sweetness
of lily of the valley.
And at the edge
of the trees,
I found them,
tiny white umbels,
crenellated bells,
close to the dark,
dank earth.
And then the deep purple
of wild violets—
I followed their fan-like faces
into the shade,
moving from one bunch
to another, gathering
a small bouquet—and then
trilliums! Trilliums!
The thick cream of their petals.
rising above the whorl
of three green leaves. Trilliums!
I knew not to pick—
my mother had taught me
to honor them.
So I sat beside
the white blossoms
before looking up.
Trees. Trees. More trees.
No path. No field. No edge
of the lake. No sense
of how I had come.
I remember I slowly stood
and turned. And turned.
So very alone.
So much beauty still clutched
in my hand. So much darkness
all around. And how did I get there?
And what should I do? I remember
the scent of the lilies. I remember
not wanting to be found.

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That Was the Day

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on August 29, 2012| 2 Comments »

I ran for it, her leg,
and clung to the green plaid
of her pants while she flipped

through boy’s shirts on a circular rack.
I’d been hiding beneath them.
Why did she not right away tell me

but let me, how much later,
look up to see the glasses,
the perfect blonde hair,

the whole Kmart kaleidoscoping
around the woman not at all
my mom. The shirts,

their sleeves hung so empty by.
I was found in the toothpaste aisle.
Perhaps I looked unchanged,

but that was the day I knew
I could lose her, my mother.
I followed her past the blue lights

to the checkout, still crying, no longer
the same girl who walked into the store,
not letting go of her hand.

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