The Poetry Marathon

Once I knew a man
I did not know him true.

He took me far
From my boarding school walls
A place I loathed.

He have me a job.
A proposal
Almost a marriage.

He also gave me lies.
He gave me a crazy woman
Wanders my halls at night.
That woman that he gave
That woman was his wife.

I went away from him.
She burnt his life to ash.

I was blinded to him.
He became blinded to all.
He finally marries me
Once his world is made small.

I have 6 kids.
3 have autism.
3 are “the normals.”

One bangs his hand on the table at mealtime
And he screams
SCREAMS!
He runs around at bedtime
Knocking his head to the wall
Laughing his butt off.
He flaps his hands like he will fly off
Anytime he is excited.

He is a “normal”

Another bites when her toys are taken.
She kicks.
She kicks hard
Anyone who comes near her foot.
Then she laughs
Just as hard.

She is a “normal”

One of them is a cuddle bug.
Cuddling every chance he gets.
Loves being read to.
Loves playing with other kids.
Great student
Popular kid.
He has autism.

He is an “abnormal”

We are all abnormally, normally.

Why is it so steep?
A wagon full
Of children
But as heavy as a load of lumber
Pushes the handle deep into my palms.
I dig in.
A work horse.

I need to conquer the hill.

I dig in
Toes trying to stick
And cling
The weight of the cart pushes back
As four sets of eyes stare.

Ugh.

Swear pour s down in make up drips.
My head starts to pound.

Up
Up

Why did I wear flip flops?
I may be a work horse
Yet I am so poorly shoed.

I vaguely see flowers
A bee
The weight pushes pasts my palms, into my shoulders.

I heave.
I pant.

I turn the final corner

To find stairs.

Stairs.
I just stare at them
Like I can vanish them
With visual intensity.

Four different people help lift the wagon.
We are now a grunting team of 5 horses
Stomping the ground
Straining muscles.

For a while
My breath calms
The breeze smacks the sweat,
But the sting is sweet.

The flowers co e to focus.
The grass greens up.
For 200 feet
Until we find more stairs.

My arms curl round his neck.
It used to be a thing.

The kisses on the cheek.
The side glances with little buds of a smile.

That was a wedding day.
Wedding day things never last.
I suppose.

One day I was laying on the couch sobbing.
No clue why.
His fist actually hit my face.
No clue why.
That also used to be a thing.

That didn’t make it into the capsule
A photo album of memories
Of an ex husband and a father
My twins never met.

Because I wanted us to live.

But there are photos of mom and dad
Hugging
Outside the Mormon temple in Salt Lake City.

Pictures having casual dinners
With Russian friends
And my cat Lucy
Who he left to die but my beat friend saved

All when I ran away.

Who wants to see that?
Who wants to know that?

Better to see a smiling couple outside a Harlem church. Christmas day no less.

Photo albums are time capsules.
Time capsules are fairy tales.
We curate them.

Why not make them happy?

This one sits buried in a plastic tub
Under my old psychology textbooks
Waiting for my twins to say,
“Tell us about our dad.”

I see the strained line,
Icy jagged cliffs
Cutting off mother-in-law
And my husband.
It bursts up in the question
“Where do I put that?”
To the watermelon he just bought.

I block the children
So the flows don’t slice us.

It creates impossible terrain
When he casually leaves a fish
Lying around
With unspoken demand:
Wash it.

They don’t see the eruption.
The cracks and fissures across the floor

I see them.
I feel the tremors.
Before little slights explode.

Everyone hears the screams
“Rubbish”
“Bitch”
“Fuck you”

Slammed doors.
Accusations.

I could see the forest floor
Quake
Slightest provocations.
Before the tigers leap and
Kill.

They don’t see me.
As they lunge,
Clawing
Ripping.

I sit between them
Glued in place,
Glazed.
Unseen
Unthought of.

I yearn to bolt
Like a deer
Escaping predators
To a quiet stream.

They don’t know me.

I am a girl who sees invisible things,
But I am not invisible.

Last line from Tae Keller When you trap a Tiger.

Embrace the silence
Her dream
To be allowed
To listen
Not forced
To pry her jaw open
Pouring forth thoughts
Of Grapes of Wrath
While actually
Daydreaming

Of a drippy, cheese pizza slice
Done curly fries

How much space is there for both
Half formed spits
Fully formed desires
And quiet.

Embrace the silent
She repeated, mantra style
While quietly slurping
Spoons of soups
A stranger
Crunched
Over toasted bread.

Questions?
She had no questions.

Job
Favorite movie
hobbies all asked
Answered by stranger in 2 words.

He didn’t ask her.
She didn’t answer.

Embrace the silence.
Baby asleep
1 hour straight
Screaming.

Colic? Overtired?
But now her silence wraps her head
Like a cooling blanket
Calming that Vagus nerve.
Quiet tickles her outer ear
And thoughts release
About work projects
And warm baths.
The sheets touching her skin
Registers.
She feels the fabric
Touching the seam.

Hold the quiet.

“Dog” “dog” “dog”

Dog across the street.
Dog next to the stroller.
Dog in the book.

“Dog” “dog” “dog”

Dog on the TV.
Dog out the window.
Dog on the junk mail.

“Dog” “bye” “dog”

Got a new word,
But he wants
the dog.

“Dog” “dog” “dog”

He was promised a
Dog
By a reluctant dad.

“Dog” “dog” “dog”

Now it’s dogs get covid.
Dogs smell bad.
Dogs take tine take time.

“Dog” “dog” “dog”
Where’s the dog?

“Dog” “dog” “dog”

Now he also has
“Bird”
“Book”
“Dog” “Bye” “dog”

Even though
Most of the day

Dog walking by
“Dog” “Dog” “dog”

Dog crossing the street
“Dog” “dog” “dog”

One day “dog” will become a name.

“Fluffster”
“George”
“Mr. Pickles”

Until then,
“Dog” “dog” “dog”

“Are you going out for your mom’s birthday?”

It was a question.
The question.
Last question.

The end came long before.
It was triplets screaming
Fists POUNDING
Faces red
While he scrolled his
Phone.

Forgetting a weekend class,
He heard about 20 times
Flowed in a stream
Where the ripples always
Washed up
Dirty dishes
Forgotten trash
Unchanged diapers.

Such a stream reeks.
Eventually,
Everyone will move.

No one needs 6 kids alone.

But no one needs a
Person watching Netflix,
Toddlers running,
Tearing into the fridge,
Ripping down the shower curtain.
Netflix
Unpaused.

If he crawls on my body
After never touching me
With a brush of the hand
Or slight lip glance
It makes my skin tighten
And my body roll away.

He won’t leave,
On this day
When he mistook my mom’s birthday
For a weekend class.
He would do nothing either way.
Netflix
Cell phone
Napping.

Toss the coin.

But I will leave.
Hopefully.
After class.
After dinner.
Hopefully.

Soon.

One day
When had been married 10 years and 2
His children perched
Waiting porridge drops in their bowls.

Steamed curled from his coffee, like the curl in het mother’s hair. And suddenly

For the first time in a few seasons
He reckoned with the body.

This reckoning happened

When he crossed a sandy step
When he saw a woman selling herself

But most
When he saw his own daughter

And wondered if his death and his wife would turn her to a body.

Then he sipped his coffee.

Years later he realized he had found a body
But the woman needed help. He was too late to help the woman and she could not help herself.

They
Put
The
Body
In
The
Ground

They
Covered
The
Body

And
All
Went
To
Silence