re-introduced

my poetry hasn’t died it’s just been tossed out with the dirty diapers

1. Mixed on low for 3-5,

2. Slid into the oven,

3. My poetry

4. High school

5. College

6. Now headaches

7. And a laughing boy named bliss

8. And my poetry 

9. I left it behind 

10. years ago. 

I realized it's been 10 years since Nelson's writer's Paris.

10 years of this blog!

___

Hey, wait up...

poetry I like us,

and our fire.

the list (where I described how I want my life to be) felt like you. 

I want 'me the poet' to be my eyes, 

my brain.

I love to 

feel real 

in the way I do with a pencil.

let's shake hands again, poetry.

let's hang out on my kitchen floor like we hung out eating lunch in school hallways, backs against lockers.

let's hang out in my son's hospital, if we have to.

let's hang out through deployments and meet again over solitary tea, just me in the evenings, just me and you, and it'll feel real and fiery and 

like I have new glasses.

Sharper. vivid. 

I'll see blurry things clearly, I'll see clear things that'd gone unnoticed,

and notice the details of this peace lily and my marriage, and the arch of my life 

in a way

we both want

food for you

focus for me

lets strike a deal

?

poetry when I'm hungry is dangerous. 

ago

The thoughts that I am thinking are worth thinking, likes trees

They grow into giants 

I pick rubber leaves from them

And mix them into soup

Creamy sunsets bright summer morning soccer game kids laughing 

Stir them together into a feast and

Breathe in, deeply, 

Heart-soup,

Feeds the good thing and the good life 

And I

I wonder if God is looking down at me right now

Lifting up my chin to see his eyes

Milky

Clear

Depth

Eyes that hold me in his palm 

And give me forehead kisses

And I close

My doors

And bleed into new colors

Ocean calm 

resting depth

And. 

Peace. 

----- 

The things we won’t say:

As we discuss with these other missionaries, 

I am thoroughly convinced of my own church.

Air Force wives

we are tough we are really tough women

we are somewhat idealistic, we 

have our husbands, we are new to the Air Force, they are with us in holding flight and at least 

some 

minutes 

most 

days.

Disillusionment stands up, walks toward me to shake my hand. 

I don't take his hand yet, but I know it is there, an option,

a firm, very firm, I think, handshake.

husband gone, gone, gone

all the time alone, alone, with myself and my thoughts, with my kids, not alone

but not with him

so, enter Disillusion

not today, but I see you down the road, you will bring your hand back and I may shake it then

I don't want to, but I'm sure I will know you in moments, at least.

Disillusion, some of us fall into you and lose ourselves. Where do they go, when they lose their dream?

"I want to be with you all the time

all day, spend time with you,"

“I want to spend at least some time with you, some days,”

dad worked from home

but you will be gone, gone, gone

and I will be alone, 

and.

Hospital, a series: Poetry

You can't kiss poetry

you can't rock poetry to sleep

Give me my son

Hospital, a series: Why

to 

be a punk teenager

learn how to walk

start talking and say mama

teach you to read

hold your kids

to 

be your mama when you're angry and angsty

cheer on your soccer games 

hug me when you're home from school

make me and dad laugh

be a big brother, meet your siblings

draw with sidewalk chalk and jump on the tramp, play with the neighbor kids and have a crush on one of them,

feel sunshine warming your skin, go to lake Powell, surf the ocean with your dad, taste fresh coconut milk, have a Christmas, read a good book, travel the world with grandpa, serve a mission, 

let me take care of you while your throat's all sore from these tubes --

There's so much, buddy. So many reasons why.

Hospital, a series: What

we want him 

we want him 

we want him 

we want him 

we want him

we want him

we want him

we want you

we want you 

we want you 

we want you 

we want you

We want him, Heavenly Father. We want him.

we want him

this is from when you almost died

when I look at you I see the future

(hear the hospital alarms from last week

but) see the future, 

you're 

learning how to bike

proud of dad and baby brother

love me (mama) too, hugging me so tightly

a kid, coming home from school, a punk, so handsome

I'm holding my grandkids, you're quite the man and 

I've always been proud of you 

son

I 

see

you 

the future I almost lost.

I almost lost 

in that emergency room on a Sunday night -- I'm hiding in the family waiting room. 

Sobs.

"Life is beautiful." a stray thought, strange that Sunday

pain and fear and surreal a closed door and a seat or two, dad's with you in the other room and I'm broken down. white tiles. white tiles and a sign saying not to leave (don't leave baby, don't leave)

they've probably seen it before, the hospital workers. I'm just another mom. 

Maybe lots of moms wait there with their hair crazy and eyes all puffed up, faces red, tears running, noses blowing.

I don't think I want you to read this someday,

so let me not tell you just this. The moment of realizing you, my baby boy, might be dying, might be about to. That pain is an experience in my chest and it 

feels

can't breathe

insides shredded like costa vida pork

dark, dark, dark

downward dragging at the bottom of my throat and 

terror

can't be scared by anything else because this ^ is real

could I ever have another kid if you ended like this--?

(panic, pain, terror, tears)

no room for thought but I started bargaining

built a fire inside and told God so much that I wanted you, and I was 

pleading with you telling you about life and how it really is worth living (even though it hurts and scares) and how if we have any say we really want 

you, love

my baby boy

we really want you, if we have any say death is exotic but no we don't want it, we want you you you you and we love you baby boy and somehow, I don't know why, not because of my bargaining, you stayed with us.

in those moments I would have done anything for the chance to wake up all night to a crying baby, to change your diapers, for toddler tantrums to consume my days--

bliss. 

Buddy, we got a second chance. You and me and your dad. some people don't. 

thanks God. thanks buddy. 

gonna try do right. 

gonna think about those other mamas whose babies didn't stay.

gonna put down my phone and snuggle you.

gonna not be so afraid. gonna cry some more, probably. 

now I'm in our living room again and you're napping. and when you wake up, I'll hug you real tight.