A Phantom’s Pain
I see barren branches o u t s t r e t c h e d against an aching sky. And I just know: A mothers’ March May spring before the fools run. I see the barren branches r e a c h i n g for a once-was and a could-be again. And I wonder if these limbs know a phantom’s pain, the presence of absence, the quickening of capillaries, the pending deluge of the thaw, sugar r u s h i n g, and a sigh of relief from what is a welcome red flag— the soft landing of a single robin, taking a chance on a branch.
Everyday Grace
She sees mess -- Abandoned magna tiles toppled and strewn like a wreck. Underwater puzzle mostly complete, missing pieces playing hide and seek. Monster trucks and hotwheels cars side-sleeping next to torn apart train and car tracks. Lunch (breakfast?) dishes heaped in the sink shouting to crumbs forgotten on counter’s granite. Little Blue Truck abandoned by the table, spine up and back breaking. Dust particles swirling in condemnation from the open porch door. They see magic -- Engineer and architecture visions alive of garages & castles & igloos, sunlight creating stained glass through their half-constructed cathedrals. Problem solving an underwater scene, hints whispered from Mom’s smiling lips. Races completed and championships won, racers no longer requiring tracks. Peanut butter worn like a lipstick and explosive hand motions for Proverbs 17:17, knocking sandwich crust off the table. Squish and safety of Mom’s lap, continual delight in a memorized story. Finding dust dancers twirling in spring light, uncontained and unobstructed. She adjusts her sight and jumps headfirst into the light. She is known // shown // blown (away) by grace of the(ir) everyday.
Sanctification
I turn the water to scalding and ask it to scour me clean. Tears salt the bathwater. I cannot swallow the shame of me— unwieldy body, growling her hunger, refusing to be hidden beneath the water’s surface. A small voice, and now my daughter strips her clothes and climbs beside me, baby perfection against dimple, swell, and excess. I bite back tears, but she anoints me with a bar of soap, rubbing sweet scent into the vessel where her cells spun into her self, paying homage to her former home.
Gifts in the Car Park
What do you give to the woman who never held anything back? Warm, wrinkled hands slip $100 into your pocket when no one’s looking. She says “spend it on a book if that’s what makes you happy”. A woman who spent her life hunting bargains saving a dollar here a dollar there. She gives you leftovers in washed out meat packaging covered in cling wrap. What do you give a second mother who opened her fridge, her bed. Gave you beautiful clothes encouraged you to study, to work hard. She doesn’t understand your educated jargon but she’s so proud you got lucky. “Your husband changes nappies.” “He’s going to be a lawyer.” What do you give when you’ve only just begun to perceive the extent of her suffering? You at the start of your mothering, she at the end of hers. She says she’s too old to change her religion, but she likes your people. What do platitudes like she had a good life mean to a woman who suffered all her eighty two years, and still gives you a $100 the week she’s starting chemo? You hug her close in the car park and thank God then and there for your Nanny. Pray He would be with her comfort her in this valley and know that it’s not good enough. But it is the best thing you have to give.
Listen to Your Body
when your knees start aching the day before the weather changes or when your stomach churns after you’ve been fed bad theology when your hips sway, nodding in approval at the dress you just slipped over them, or your heart beats the answer to a hard question when your shoulders tell you (again and again) what you’re holding is too heavy or when your soul sings as you write just the right words you weren’t taught how to listen to her, weren’t taught how she works, only taught how to keep her covered and skinny (but not too skinny) But you’re both older and wiser now and she’s talking and you’re listening and there has never been a more holy union
Open Tabs
Early chapter book lists The life cycle of a frog Digital copy of kindergarten school photo Cake recipes Wordle A link to a tank top I’ll never buy (too expensive) “Pretzel bagels near me” What is the fastest sea animal? A link to a swimsuit I’ll never buy (too orange) The listing for a house in the neighborhood that is going for how much? A scone recipe I’ve been meaning to try for six months Five year-old birthday ideas A book that might help her with this A podcast that might help me with that So many questions uncertainties answers to be found in this life How much can one woman hold? A tab for that too
After Infatuation, Love
After infatuation, the wiser, older lovers had a penchant for pulling me back to earth, plucking the cotton ball clouds from my hair, filling my shoes with rocks. They leaned over with sympathetic eyes, reminded me why it is called puppy love— a proclivity for blind adoration and getting tangled in the leash. Smitten as I was, they could see I did not yet know what it was to sacrifice everything, what it was to slide the ring on the trembling finger, to prance out of the chapel and into a life. Sit down and let me tell you now so you are ready. This is how it happens: You will start to see the edges of things again, you will use words besides delight and rapture, you will expose all the bones you buried in the dirt, you will read a book, see a professional, perhaps lock yourself in the bathroom, you will no longer say things like, “I put mascara on just for him”, you will catch the ego under a glass and leave it to die. You will listen for his key in the lock at the end of every day, wait for the click and release of the bolt, feel the hitch in your own chest as you come undone, think of all the locked doors he has jimmied free, best of all you.
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Such a rich rollout here, Michelle! Thank you for this beautiful lift! I, too, will be returning to these words.
This turned out so beautifully, Michelle! It is such a joy to write together. So much truth in all these poems! ♥️