Posts for June 1, 2022 (page 3)

This morning I took my (foster) kid to the dentist, and watched her teeth get care for the first time in years. 
As we checked out they asked if she’d be with us in six months for a follow up, and I had to tell them that we never know.
We go to the checkups and teach the lessons, and hope that they remember them in their future, even though we don’t what that looks like. 

This afternoon I was in the car with my family on the way to the pool for the fourth day in a row. 
We smelt like sunscreen and summer, but we were going over what to do if the shooter approaches your classroom. 
Some stressors don’t disappear on the last day of school, some terrors ring true long past the final bell. 

Standing in water up to our chests my wife and I “oohed” and “ahed” as we watched a trans teen strut in her first gender affirming swimsuit. 
And then I whispered “I’m so proud, and so worried. Do you know the statistics for Black trans women?”
She’s fierce and brave and everything I wasn’t at that age, I hope that she can always make a splash. 

Today was mundane and typical. 
Today was terrifying and tragic. 
Today was our norm. 

I think by that I mean he is big–
but he is also leafy and deciduous.

He’s a flowering 
tree not a fruiting one.

I guess you could pick strips of his bark 
and slowly crumble it in your hands.

I’ve been told I look a bit like him
when we stand side by side.

Rather unlike a tree he tells me
he’s proud of me and a good man.

So it’s a bit confusing at times having a father. 

She pulls colorful yarn 
Through the top of the skull
From her black and white body

Brilliant shimmers
Over her gray.

I take your calloused hand,
Work worn from time on a shovel,
Ropes slipping through your palms.
Grit against my lips
As I press my mouth to your bruised knuckles,
Used again to defend my honor.
I beg you once more
To be careful
Protect your own good body,
Save your own fragile soul. 

whistling wishing dish
whisks swilling sky, lightning bright
tidy pig pinprick

the eyes that see the brave starling in the wind
and the scars across the moon’s face;
the mouth that tastes the bitterness of the afternoon
and the sweetness of the ripe cherry;
the nose that smells the morning dew
and the quiet of the pine;
the ears that hear what needs to be said
and what can remain unspoken;

They say every rose has its thorn,

But you have many.

While you withstand most,

When things dip below sustainable,

You fall off.

But not for long,

Seeing as you are hardy perennials.

You’re always showing up to prove your beauty in this world, shedding light on my barren soul.

My hats off to you for surviving the high and low temperatures this world brings, and offering more peace than you know.

I push

it’s too loud in here today.
I’ve heard louder, if we’re measuring by decibels,
but my mind doesn’t care about objective scientific measurements;
all I know is that it’s too loud.

it seems to me that
each person speaks with sharper tones,
and every time someone laughs it is a slap to the face
and I swear I can hear everyone in the room chewing
and breathing.

there are so many different sources of noises that
have a right to be there
but I’m angry at them for
the effect they have on me.

wave after wave of sound pounds against my ears.
nobody else seems to notice this auditory barrage, 
so I’ll cover my ears and wait
til I feel normal again.

Sitting on a bench donated by the neighborhood association for the enjoyment of all
A solo bench refuge next to an ebullient brook
                             relieved to have water carrying her tales down stream

Three tall Northern California Redwoods stand abreast extending their arms
across the water
Hard to believe I can sit here for free

The tall boys trio harmoniously play hide & seek with a peek-a-boo sun
                             as a light breeze whispers ‘everything’s all right’

City’s armored crust begins to crack and crumble
like a chameleon mood ring my colors change from red-crimson
                             ‘fight or flight’
to cool pale green          reassuring
                             my heart,
                                    my pace, 
                                           my place,
like a carpenter’s plumb bubble floating
                            mid-range ~ spirit level

My breath comes in on left over tears ~ reminders of my first car’s
early morning coughs and spits
                  ‘pull out choke ~ give it a little gas ~ clutch shift first’

For now I sit on the bench dedicated for the enjoyment of all

In the soothing company of three tall boys
                   distant birds cry as sun shafts slide over a lone poised fern

I stand and Madame Sun wraps her arms around the three tall boys
bathing me in late afternoon light.