You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'family' category.
At the interview
J’s hired on the spot, full of
new employee glee.
J replaced my mouse
that broke. M’s card made me cry.
Both my greatest gift.
Undercooked pancakes,
misspelled cards, weeds for flowers.
Love makes them perfect.
M came home and washed
all the dishes in the sink
trying to be nice.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
She curls around the
baby like a spiral shell
protecting its snail.
My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.
In wordless despair
M dissolves in tears clutching
me like a life vest.
Muddy quads, walls bare
of ivy still inspire awe.
Can we get in?
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.
Unaware of her
beauty, unselfconsciousness
gives each movement grace.
Left in Manhattan
cab. Friends’ numbers, pix of my
kids in strangers’ hands.
“We’re domestic,” a
blonde woman tells her daughter
in line at the gate.
On a cluttered Queens
balcony he stands, watching
the complex decay.
J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.
Today J begins
flying not yet a driver
the sky’s the limit
We watch bad TV
eat microwave popcorn feel
guilty not really.
Longing to hug them,
I wait ’til they flutter near
like moths to my flame.
Drove to the city
to shop eat sushi buy fun
things that make us smile.
Grey army trenchcoat
or lime green sixties jacket
J can pull off both.
The Director’s Cut
in her hands M reads snuggled
with her Uglydoll.
Ransacks the kitchen.
Demands she needs chocolate.
Pacified by Dove.
We sleep late and do
little. Spend quality time.
Together, enough.
Teenager curled up
becomes baby J who’s glad
that mommy’s nearby.
Her breath sounds like the
whistle of distant trains bound
for lands beyond dreams.
Cally For Nia
For Hillary. Maria
cried, “Uncle Ted said..!”
Some people like to
cook. Then there’s me who dreads that
thing called dinner hour.
“Have you been writing
your haiku journal?” he asked.
You read. You know ‘no.’
With short hair he looks
like a grey human baby.
He’ll never talk back.
Through the rainforest.
Lunch at Rhythms Rainbow Beach,
then Carambola.
Lazy day, lazy
night. Dinner at seven with
turkey and plantains.
Green Cay Marina
walk. J gets stung, M watches
A Christmas Story.
Cheeseburger joint with
singer grateful for applause.
Relaxed crowd, staff slow.
Day in Christiansted.
Cool arched walkways, courtyards lined
with stores. Few shoppers.
To Fredericksted.
Live music on Rainbow Beach.
Snorkel for beach glass.
At Schooner Bay, iced
tea - 60 cents at Big Lots -
is nearly three bucks.
Island band’s Christmas
tunes with a reggae twist our
dinner serenade.
Kayak to Green Cay.
Snorkel among reefs. Head back,
sunburned and happy.
Cruzan pineapple
flavored rum makes happy hour
even happier.
We eat cereal
on the porch by the sea, while
island music plays.
Intense turquoise, the
water is a wake-up call
to swim, sun, sail, dream.
She PhotoShops her
self covered with blood spatters
loves puppies, is sweet.
An affectation,
but it’s cute, and she is for
given many sins.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
If I could shoot my
eye out with that thing, I’d just
sit and watch TV.
Like catching snowflakes,
this melts quickly from the heat
of a stressful month.
My spare bedroom holds
many possibilities
under all that junk.
We bring it home, put
it on life support so we
can hang ornaments.
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
Like speed dating, if
they make a good impression,
they come home with us.
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
Happy, they’re kittens
fluffy and sweet. Mad, they’re all
claws, spitting, hissing.
“She hurt my daughter,
so I wanted to hurt her.
Can’t you understand?“
She’d buy Free People,
match and mismatch carelessly,
revel in oddball.