Honored to have my poem “Stronger” published in Literary Mama-a beautiful testament to the spirit of motherhood…
“Literary Mama first started to take shape in 2002 as a class called Writing About Motherhood taught in Berkeley, California by Amy Hudock. A group of mothers continued meeting at the conclusion of the class, and within months, had connected with other mother writers who, like them, were producing work that was deemed too complex for glossy parenting magazines and too mother-centric for traditional literary journals.”
“…our current staff of 27 includes women from across the United States, Canada, and Israel. We’re communications professionals, university professors, writers, editors, copy editors, photographers, and moms. Our contributors hail from all corners of the world.”
a worn woman stands in my mirror
half-cocked smile working its way to the corners
my mother deserves a joyful daughter
my mother, the one in the mechanical bed
I remember a version of me
standing tall with my broad frame and big hands
(gifts from my dad)
ready to take on life’s traveling circus
I fancied myself a carnival strong-woman
all muscles and charisma
what of this beaten figure confiscating my reflection
proud shoulders curving toward the dirt
hands large like her father’s, now achy and brittle
I long for a return to those 360-mirror days
sauntering like a big cat
pumping fierce iron
positive in mind and powerful in body
yet here I am with the memory
unable to ignite the revival
my beloved weights, big stacks once impressive to many
abandoned on a cold gym floor somewhere
still I lift every day
my mother’s broken body like a heaving sack of flour
from bed to wheelchair to commode
up and down up and down
up ramps down ramps side ramps
in around and back again
with each passing day
I grow stronger
enjoy this thoughtful day (I’m going to pretend back in 1913 Hallmark didn’t see the commercial opportunity that this historical day presented 😘)
my daughter’s nails, her mother’s thoughts…(usually after reading the morning paper)
“Gary Paul Geidel (December 11, 1956 – September 11, 2001) was a New York City Fire Department firefighter killed during the September 11 attacks shortly before scheduled retirement. His brother Ralph Geidel, also a firefighter, helped in the 9/11 rescue effort as well and around 2014 died of complications attributed to toxins he inhaled at the scene.” Wikipedia
I did not know Gary personally, I did not know his family, I painted this for a friend’s mother who knew Gary’s mom very well.
My father’s cousin’s husband was in one of the towers – he didn’t work there – he’d been there only for an interview – on 9/11 his story changed to past tense
“I will die at the right time” new poem published on the fabulous Her Story Blog – I hope you check out this wonderful venue of expression
I Will Die at the Right Time
At this rate, there will be nothing left for my children. Too much
falling outside the body. A two-headed llama with no head
belonging to me.
all to them
unintentionally by them
Losing ability to see value by which aging matters. Watching
bone-slow deterioration. Using my frame to anchor relations.
Trying to deduce life’s meaning–endgame research.
Sowing seeds of pain in backward gardens planted with wrinkling flesh,
falling from porous skeletons.
fire, grace, motion, lightning
without remorse from each sunrise.
The silver-edge moon no longer sensual,
goading their last warm breaths.
Not doing this to my flesh and blood.
I will die at the right time.
acrylic painting done a few years ago
When I think of my children going into the world, I find myself championing humanity. I pray we never cease believing this: we are so much stronger than these acts of violence that steal innocent life and try to rip away our collective compassion for one another