inspired by looking up

waning crescent left behind

a fingernail moon

hangs in the blue sky

of morning

like a lost child

not yet aware

that Ursa Major and Ursa Minor

and little Cassiopeia

have disappeared

friday haiku

the germination
of a seed, never ceases
to be a wonder

friday haiku (and a happy birthday)

fourteen years ago
this sweet face changed everything
hearts split wide open

::

A couple years ago we had all of our old camcorder tapes put onto DVD so we could finally sit down and watch the hours of video we shot when Liam was little. Some of my favorite footage is of 3-year-old Liam serenading his months-old brother with a little red Gibson Flying V electric guitar plugged into an amp. Liam is strumming away with full intensity and no melody whatsoever, sing-shouting about gorillas and ham sandwiches.

We've joked about sending the footage to America's Funniest Home Videos, but undoubtedly no one else would find it as endearingly hilarious as we do. As the mom of this intensely passionate and creative boy, watching the video always puts a lump in my throat. How did I get such a crazy-cool kid?

Today this little firecracker continues to amaze me. He still puts that same intensity into his guitar practice, but the sounds coming out are whole lot more melodic. He spends a couple hours a week glued to the piano bench, draws with exquisite precision, flips seemingly effortlessly on the trampoline and blows us all away in his understanding of mathematical concepts and theories. But he's not one to tout his abilities. Although at first glance the videos of Liam at 3 years old may have told a different story, this boy has never been one for the spotlight. He's not a performer. He just does what he loves.

Because his baby brother has had developmental and medical needs that have taken a lot of time and emotional energy, Liam hasn't always gotten his fair share of attention and probably shoulders more responsibility than most kids his age. Sometimes it kind of sucks. But the quiet compassion and insight he shows seems pretty uncommon in boys his age.

I'm so grateful for this kid. His kind heart, resiliency and wisdom beyond his years. These are the qualities that truly amaze me. Happy birthday to my little rockstar. I suspect you'll put a lump in my throat forever.

friday haiku

the thing with feathers
perched in a love note to a friend
when no words will do

friday haiku (and some thoughts on Elliott)

Having a good day?
How is your family doing?
Love he shows strangers

::

I haven't encountered many 10-year-olds with a more generous heart and empathetic nature, especially around strangers and animals. One moment that really stands out from our recent family trip to Edinburgh was on the last day in the late afternoon when we were checking out of a store.

Elliott studied the cashier and then said, "How are you doing? Have you had a long day?"

The shopkeeper was a little taken aback but responded in a lovely Scottish brogue, "Well, my little has been keeping me up a wee bit at night. Makes for a long day."

Elliott nodded, looked her right in the eye and said earnestly, "How is your family doing?"

"Why, very well, thank you," the shopkeeper laughed. "What a kind young man you are."

It's so true. He annoys the heck out of his brother and can be stubborn as all get out at home, but he's always the first to say "hello," greeting passersby in the street, showing an interest in the lives of others, picking up on the moods and struggles of strangers. Partly I think he's just hyper-observant. (Favorite line of the trip was when he leaned into me while walking down a crowded street and said quietly, "So, when I grow up, I can smoke?" Clearly he had observed that only adults were smoking!)

Elliott has always been an enigma. He processes academic information with a significant delay. He has trouble distilling the "why" of a given situation. He goes blank when asked to parrot back the details of a story he's been told. But he surprises everyone with his keen pitch and rhythm. His penmanship and eye for detail in coloring and drawing are praiseworthy. He blows his brother out of the water playing video games. He can read upside down. I have no idea what any of this means.

I do know that he also genuinely loves interacting with people. I used to think it was his way of connecting and trying out his verbal skills. I now see something deeper. Elliott seems to innately recognize one of the greatest lessons my mom taught me: "Everyone has a sign over their head that says, 'Make me feel important.'"

I think about this adage often and try to act on it. No one taught it to my son. It appears that he was just born knowing it.

friday haiku

set up the hammock
budding branches, bird songs, sun
a tease: snow again

a friday poem that's not a haiku

Before leaving for a quick getaway last weekend, I grabbed a little notebook that I hadn't picked up in awhile but knew had some blank pages available. I figured I may actually have time for a coherent thought and didn't want to miss the opportunity to write it down. Upon opening the notebook during my flight out of town, I was reminded that this was where I had labored over a few poems in the first half of last year. Being that those were the weeks and months after very viscerally experiencing my mom's death, it should have been no surprise the poems were all about dying. But, jeez, I thought, how about at least one verse on lovers or sunrises? I guess I didn't have it in me.

After noticing the theme and observing all the crazy cross-outs and side writing, I laughed to think how any other person flipping through these pages would surely think it was the work of someone with major issues. And a strange fascination with death. Still, I couldn't help editing one of the poems that had some potential. In the end, I think the poem is about love and how fiercely it binds us together.

::

Fear of Flying

The day before your 13th birthday
I took off
and landed twice,
willing away images of crumpled fuselages and smoldering wreckage.
I never feared flying until I pushed you into being.

At what age does a child skate on unscathed from the death of a mother?
When is it safe to be gone?

Not when I can still coax out the details of your day,
read aloud in your darkened room,
make your lunch or rub your back,
invited.
Plenty of duties no longer need me—
showering, dressing, cleaning your room.
A quiet distance grows.
But 13 needs a mom
maybe more than 2 or 5.

So I pray to the gods of turbulence and steel
to give me one more birthday
and one more
and one more
until you're an age where losing a mother isn't a deafening silence
where no one can reach you,
but just a whisper of sadness
that you breathe in and out each day
and move on.