Cono Morning (written fall 2008)

Tender new morning light peeks through my blinds

I hear the familiar thud and padding of feet

Clad in footed princess pajamas

Coming tentatively down the hall

They stop at my door

I pretend to be asleep

Wishing she will give up

And pad her way back to bed

The door cracks open

Through squinted eyes

I see such sweet wispy blond curls

Such hopeful blinking blue eyes

That I can’t help but smile

Her mouth, curled tightly around a shriveled thumb,

Breaks into a grin and her eyes leap with joy

She laughs, dashes for my bed,

Dingy pink blanket dragging behind,

And scrambles up beside me

Snuggling in, she wrinkles her nose in a grin

And nuzzles my face

“I wuv you, Mommy”

I nuzzle back and breathe her hair in

There is a thumping from the hall

A crib rail vigorously thudding back and forth

Then the banging of a sippy cup on the wall

Hannah is delighted, “Emma’s awake!”

I hoist my heavy, pregnant belly out of bed

Hannah runs ahead of me, “I want my juice!”

The banging continues, faster now

“Stop it, Emma!” an annoyed voice calls

Now it is me peeking in their door

Emma is pleased

She smiles, binky dropping from her mouth

And strains to reach me over the crib rail

Naomi rolls in her bed,

Brushes her long, frizzy hair from her face

“Mommy, Emma woke me up”

“Me too” I sigh

Now there are six feet clad in footed jammies

Toddling, thudding eagerly to the kitchen

Jumping in anticipation

As I dole out watered down juice into three sippy cups

They gulp happily

Hannah blinks up at me,

“Mommy is your baby kicking?”
“Not right now”

“I think our baby is nocturnal” Naomi advises

“My baby’s kicking,” Hannah beams

Then lifts her shirt, “Wanna feel it?”

I place my hand on her tiny, thin tummy

And pretend to feel a kick, she is satisfied

I gaze at their faces, their eyelashes, chapped cheeks

And try to memorize each detail

Some morning I will wake up alone

It will be a foggy memory

I want this morning to be as crisp and alive then

As it is now

Some morning sleep will be plentiful

But there will be no wrinkled, grinning nose to nuzzle mine

No footed jammies to lead me to the kitchen

Some morning this morning will be a memory

Prognosis (Poem for Naomi, written around 2011)

Infinitely complex

Untenably marred

Boundlessly resilient

This child in my arms

Swollen belly

Crooked feet

Crossing eyes

Murmured beat

Liver scarred

Kidney cysts

Endowments of

A genome glitch

Devalued, dismissed

I cradle my girl,

Shielding her spirit

From a misjudging world

Which gene encodes

Her gift for art,

Her passion for books,

Her merciful heart?

What nucleic acid

Could portend

Her affection for horses

Her first best friend?

And which base pair

Might empower

Her compassion for

A frost-nipped flower?

Which locus holds

Her giddy smile?

What helix encrypts 

The soul of a child?

What white-coated Einstein,

What world-wide reserve

Of human insight

Can presume her worth?

Infinitely complex

Untenably marred

Beyond their prognosis

A child in my arms

Wanderlust and Dinner

It isn't that there is anything wrong here
It's more that I am here again
Here at the kitchen sink with my hands in luke-warm water
Scraping bits of sticky dried bread from the bread-maker pans
Again

Here pulling steamy silverware out, putting greasy silverware in
Crunching Rice Chex under my feet and sighing
And sweeping
And wiping
Again

Here filling bread-maker pans with water, oil, and yeast
No measuring spoons needed
Each bit slipping in from memory
And I'm unsure whether this automated accuracy
Amazes or disgusts me
This orchestrated kitchen dance
My pride and my drudgery

Monotony
Mon…o…ton…y…

Lord, I'm gagging here
Gagging on monotony
Send me anywhere, but not to dinner
Not to the quiet, not to the usual
Not to the faithful ordinary

Please, poet friends, take me away
Sarah, Audrey, Andrew, Rich
With my hands in the water
Sing my heart out of this
Lord, help me offer this

Deep breath in
Smile at these tiny hungry taskmasters
Catch them in a hug as they run by
Reign me back from wanderlust
From all the worlds I'd rather spend today in
Heart, don't choke on those sweet lies

Potatoes, wash potatoes
Slice the peppers, thaw the meat
Find the rhythm and the music
In the steady, in the staying
In the never trading them for me
The offering

In a world of leavers leaving
Wandering after their dislocated souls
Stay. Right. Here.
With your hands in the water, dear heart
Stay here and decide to sing

Stay and chop potatoes
Pour yourself out again
And again
In the ordinary
In the never-heroic, rarely-seen, often-snubbed
Dinner
And when you stay, dance

Set a table with stability
Generosity
Less of me
More of "How was your day?"
(I wanted to run screaming from the kitchen but I didn't)
"Are you hungry? I made a plate for you"
"It's in the fridge, do you want me to warm it up now?"

It isn't that I'm doing anything grand here
It's more that I'm cleaning up dinner again
In a world of leavers leaving
Here with my hands in puke-warm water
Elbow-deep in monotony
In less of me
This heart is set on staying
And tonight is set in peace

Humbled Creator, a Poem by Hannah

Christmas isn't about the presents
Christmas isn't about the tree
Christmas isn't about the food
Or the stockings by the chimney

We celebrate Christmas because of a Manger
In a stable dirty and old
Inside lay the maker of the universe
But he wore no crown of gold

He came to earth as a child
Tiny, crying, weak
He humbled himself to a baby boy
Who couldn't even speak

But He made the mountains
He made the sea
He made the oceans
He made you and me

The aspens show
Even the mice know
He is the creator
We should be awestruck

by Hannah Eby, age 10

Christmastime, a poem by Naomi

At Christmastime we wish for snow
To build, play in, and have some fun
It's funny to think that in two months
We'll wish spring weather would soon come

At Christmastime I like night drives
We listen to carols on radio
And watch the houses flying by
Bedecked with lights that softly glow

At Christmastime we decorate
By hanging wreaths and strings of lights
We hang our stockings in a row
Then add the tree, oh what a sight

At Christmastime I love to watch
The twinkling lights hung on its boughs
As if they know the secrets wrapped
And can't help smiling at the thought

At Christmastime, family comes
Or perhaps we visit them
Grandmas, grandpas, aunts, and uncles
They're always great to see again

At Christmastime we count the days
Until that day arrives
Then the gifts are opened, and gone is the surprise
Until again, it's Christmastime

by Naomi

Junior High Girls, You’re Missing Out on a Fantastic Friendship

Listen girls, I understand. I was a junior high girl once too. I know that you’re busy figuring out who you are and who you will become. You want to know which clothes will tell the world the most about your unique personality, which song lyrics ring the most true in your heart, and which other junior high girls are the most like you. You are naturally drawn to other people with similar personalities, similar tastes, similar goals, and similiar convictions. It feels fantastic to be surrounded by people who are like you—the kind that you instantly click with—I understand.

But can I be your older sister here and help you see something you’re missing? You’re missing out on a fantastic friendship with someone you’d least expect: the quiet, somewhat odd girl who sits by herself in the back of the classroom, the back of the lunchroom, or the back row of your church..

Ah, you think you’re on to me now, you think I’m writing this to tell you that she needs you to be her friend, that you need to perform an act of community service and selflessly reach out to her even though it’s painfully hard and you have nothing to gain, but you’re wrong. I’m telling you that you’re missing out on a fantastic friend for YOU.

That girl is my daughter, and I know some things about her that you don’t know. I know that she’s actually only quiet and awkward until she gets to know you, and that the initial few weeks or months that you might have to spend on helping her develop a friendship will be an investment well worth making. I know that she is actually fantastically smart, and you’d never guess it, but she can be quite witty and crack some hilarious jokes when you least expect them. But more important than that: she is kind. She is genuinely, from the heart, kind in a way that is rare among your age group. She is loyal and would never turn her back on you, never trade you for a newer or more popular friend, never speak hurtful words behind your back.

It’s true that there are ways you could help her. You could take her by the hand and patiently lead her into the dizzying world of junior high friendships. You could overlook her sometimes-awkward laugh, or the way she blinks back tears whenever she feels strong emotions, or the small awkward silences that happen when she’s not sure what to say next. You could help her learn what to say next. You could teach her that it’s safe to trust and that you won’t abandon her as a friend when a more popular girl comes along. But I want you to know that she can help you too.

She can almost certainly help you with your math and science homework. She can teach you to draw shockingly beautiful horses, and recommend a long list of good books to read. These things you might have guessed. But did you know that she is the best listener you will ever hope to have in a friend? She will listen and listen with the goal of truly understanding your heart instead of jumping in with her own stories, and she will actually care about who you are, how you are feeling, and what you are going through. She is wise. She thinks deeply behind that quiet face and, if you are patient enough to wait for an answer, she will offer you advice that is mature beyond her years and yours. When you least expect it then, she will crack you up with wit and humor, you never would have guessed that she hid. 

Do you know what an investment is? It’s where you pay an amount first in order to gain access to something that will be worth more in the end. Some friendships are like investments—they don’t come as easily as others, but they offer greater reward down the road. You may have to be willing to do most of the talking at first or think of lots of questions to get her talking. You may have to patiently wait for responses from her as she organizes her thoughts.  Be patient. Keep trying. It’s worth it.

After you have spent a few weeks and months learning to understand each other you will realize that she taught you some of life’s best lessons: that people are not always as they seem, that some of the more rewarding relationships take work, and that a loyal friend is often more valuable than a popular one. You will begin to see the other quiet or awkward or disabled people in your life in a new light too—as unique, valuable, enriching, human beings that are worth the effort to welcome into your life—and that is a lesson you will benefit from for as long as you live. You can never repay her for that.

Trust me on this one. It took some work for me to get to know her too, but you will never regret that you did.

With love to you,

That Quiet Girl’s Mom

Afternoon October Road

I caught you on an afternoon October road
Past large white houses and large white barns
Set in sunset fields of drying heirloom corn
And autumn green pastures with short-cropped grass
Where proud draft teams rest from harvest
Past mum-lined porches and bonnet-dressed clothes lines
By gravel driveways where wooden wheels clatter
Behind lean brown horses minding their reigns

Soft cattails and red sumac swished in the ditches as I passed
Reminding me to watch the road, and not the oaks
Not the fresh tinted shades in the afternoon glow
Not the rising, beating arrow of geese
Sweeping my soul up into flight
Straight back to the garden gate
Back to the guarded gate

I drove grazing, grasping for the sweetness here
Spilling over, lingering behind you
The sent of your presence after you left
While the hero poets sang to me
To let me know they'd caught it too
They and I, we wait for you

I wanted to bring it home with me
Hoarding manna sun on autumn oaks
Home with chores, with stress, with vacancy
Home with biting, careless words
So I held my tongue and let it hurt

I didn't mind at all today
To drive again the same October road
To find the sun still lit the cattails
Still swishing reddened Sumac lining fields
And remember we're both on the wrong side here
Both pounding on the back side of the the gate
Both digging for the well, scraping bread from sand
And sometimes it doesn't hurt to let it hurt

I caught you on an afternoon October road
With the mum-lined porches and the poets
The scent of your presence, enough for today
Trickling rock, sandy wafer, a sigh in the ache
Just please come back soon and open the gate