mom chess

I am lost in the details

it’s survival, here in our kitchen with kids

only urgent needs, like toast & trains, no taking & trying

to squeeze myself in

I am lost in 

the details

imagining tree roots and scriptures,

snatching at anchors to ground myself or 

else blow 

away

I finally get a slice of bread for myself and my 1-year-old says “please, bread,” 

holds out his hands to me with a pouty face,

never mind that this is probably his third slice

and i’ve spent two hours unclogging the toilet.

I am one 

of the details

standing in a frantic puzzle

(maybe if i move the knight this way, and the pawn

that, it will all come clear)

3 steps forward, 2 steps back

There is no secret ingredient whispers Po

and i will die without a sense of humor

(next time they yell, make them laugh he whispers behind his dumpling)

I am handed detail after detail and will be wading through these mostly-brown,

middle puzzle pieces til i find an edge or connection

some days better

than today’s survival episode and some days worse

but when i am in the middle of the muddle 

I hope at least to to be muddling through with

big eyes who cry for hurt grasshoppers,

and wild blonde curls who giggle when i say goodnight

i guess when you're tucked in tonight i won't mind

the puzzle

as long as it was always me and you.

Quilts

(For Robbie) 

When my heart grows cold will you be the blanket I’m handed

(here, God whispers and, quietly, watches)

How could that be, when you were just taken away?

– not so – I see you every morning in my 

everywhere, I see you and 

everywhere, I hear you

to be reminded of so many someones all at once 

hurts my minds eye

Just show him to me!

I’m yelling,

– excuse me I’ll go, with my outside voice, speak with someone—

God— when I’m missing him so much

when the others forget 

when they can’t see

(this is my hurt and it is strong)

“Love my family” whispers Wesley 

into the ears of everyone he can,

‘til hearts grow full of

“Love my family”  Wes whispers into the ears of God, let me do that now and still.

“I love my family” whispers God as he cries great big rolling tears and wraps his arms around tired, tired hearts

Keep them warm,

He whispers,

when no one else can 

I will wrap my arms around them

lend your arms, too

broken shards do not want to mend

The potter is waiting.

Where is heaven, Dad? 

how long til we get there asks my son

Pretty far, I say, at least three hours fastest way to get there is to close your eyes

When will we be there, mama?

We’re passing through it now it’s all around us but seems far away

Here is a blanket honey, remember 

on the long drive

You are Covered, as you cry 

oh Brother,

wrap the feelings 

of You

And you

around me.

We will bounce through the night down the darklit road until we close our eyes and wake up home

I am taking this quilt God hands me, it has settled onto my shoulders as i drive, this gentle weight on my heart 

You can be gently permanent, here, anytime, my Brothers i will keep my eyes open on this drive and you will 

clearly, and visibly, and in just your own ways, slower than i’d like but my potter is steady as long as it takes,

keep me warm.

soul in the pool

i just bared my soul to you in the swimming pool,

Gina who I thought was Jana,

you who are not my grandmother but 

I'll act as if you are for the next three years. 

shivering in lukewarm water,

you on your floatie, I with my paddling arms,

there are some bridges built quickly, by listening, and by opening,

we are treading water and life

toss me a life line

listen to me see me

i am so lost in the words i am (so lost in the words) i am not seeing my husband in front of me

toss me a life line, he says

listen to me see me, he says

he says none of those but I am determinedly writing about the time i was listened to while i (busily) close my heart to him

listening, and opening, we need this bridge.

Gina probed with precision, so gently,

family, parents, mission, husband... 

apply, Anna, apply. apply apply

hearts are to be opened

and hugged tenderly, without touching, in the water and the woodshop quiet

eyes and gentle questions

take off your clothes, soul, be bare and shivering and 

swim in the water two at a time,

soft.

My favorite flower

is a horse.

dappled gray,
breathing hay and warm eyes
a quiet mane

i am no cowboy and this is only wishful thinking
you are not my pen but i am writing 
cold prose with dappled hooves
painted the way you hold me
warm and breathing

hard knees gripping
muddy gray legs running
i'm speechless
leather love, and breathing in hay

hold me now
dappled cheek pressed 

against mine

Oh brother

Last night i was in the kitchen and remembered the sound of angry silence in your childhood.

Oh brother,

Running running away, accumulating blisters on your heel and in your heart

Somewhere out there, there is something 

Vague you are searching for 

you will never find it running but you’ll try

With your tools and projects.

projects, always another one

Me, i micromanage.

Her, she people pleases.

You do that too, but 

Your escape of choice is the chicken coop, and the fence, then the garden boxes, and the cabinets, next the window, the mud kitchen, then the pond,

Come here, Brother

I am looking in your eyes and you are looking away.

Take off your jacket, hun.

Take it off

Take off your sadness, your deep qualms, hang them on

This hook right here, then come sit by the 

fire please.

(you’re wondering who you’d be without it)

It’s warmer with it on

but (brother the hearth is lit) 

think what you could build without it

(which tool which tool will fix this)

this lost feeling, the running away, the trying to prove, the troubled underneath

No tools, friend. 

You cannot run away from this fire

The thing you are searching for is in your own eyes

And in the eyes of your wife,

Don’t look away.

Watch your children, slowly, and slowly again,

You will find it in their sleeping faces and in her quiet tears but strong hand

Set down the fence you’re building 

In your yard and in your heart

Start right here in the rain and tell them

You’re hurt and sad and lost

– she’ll tell you she is too –

And notice how everything you’ve been looking for is in your hand when you hold theirs

Oh, brother we’ve been looking for you

And so has God

Will you run from him too?

He needs someone, just like you

The right man for the job

He has one for you, it's just what you've didn't know you wanted

Show him what you’ve got — 

show him your jacket and your tools, 

Show him the words you don’t muster and the path you haven’t found

Show him each blister

Each project

Show

Him

And then sit down quietly at your table and rest, smell the wood shavings from earlier today and hear the muted goats outside, til when they come up the stairs yelling Daddy and 

she looks you in the eyes with questions in her heart, 

this time,

my brother,

don’t look away. 

For Amy

Have you ever seen God's hands, when he gardens?

calloused palms and chocolate fingertips, they trail soil and grassy smells as his fingerprints brush your cheek

and whisper

i love you, child.

I imagine he doesn't wear gloves, today,

as he digs and plants

on one knee and carefully,

placing roots, and lifting new leaves,

gently tending us just right.

Sometimes those skilled hands of his slow and he sits down beside me.

Father, is that you?

we ask as our plans rearrange

as we are uprooted and carried across the garden,

as our troubles soothe

as our dried-out days are given - miraculously -

a sweet drip line of living water. 

Some days it rains

and we tip our mouths up and shut our eyelids and 

whisper back, 

thank you -

now i am in the rows of green, watching for him  

i know if i am listening, i'll hear him humming

if i am looking, i'll find his footprints

his hand shovel

he tends to be right in front of me, smiling with his eyes -

I am here, in this garden, and 

he is here, in this garden, with me.

Sunday Morning Susie

Did grandpa come to get you were there roses in your hair?

on Sunday mornings.

Back before all this, when you first met, where there still

flower-printed dresses,

Did your hands shake then

holding his, grandpa

in slacks, glasses on his nose and he smiled to see you

he must have tapped you on the other shoulder in the pews

He took you to the real church this morning, didn’t he?

Picked you up early – 5:46 – you were sleeping 

got an early start, so you could smell roses and greet people on the way 

be there for prelude music 

and after all these years, he must have carried you in his arms

Real church. in the 

Real place.

the cloudy one i don’t remember, but

warm clear light do i smell

seashells and joy do i hear

someone I’d forgotten nearby

standing straighter

school's out & we're 

(right,)

young again 

and there are

so many togethers no more pain

Grandma, is that you looking around for an organ?

you are peering down at us,

Thank you, whispering to your children

you've gone, on a date with dad and it's about time

What do you do on Sundays

in heaven,

Grandma?

Strong feet now, no more falls

peace, 

pieces of living 

bread, on a tray, I had them today 

and as you sat in church this morning, 

i am wondering 

and still wondering,

I’m wondering –

what did you see?

no. i don’t understand how your day has been but 

I     wonder 

if there was a palm

fingerprinted and warm 

(pierced)

Did he hold out living bread and water, to you

no tiny cups and trays this time.

he must have smiled deeply to see you,

enough room in his hug for you and all of you besides.

Now its sunday afternoon. 

Is grandma Susie still sick? my small son asks.

no. She’s all better now. 

I kneel down, so he can see my eyes.