The Poetry Marathon

before he took the cup filled with wine
he took the bread
he blessed bread
he broke bread
and he shared bread
saying
“take and eat” and
“remember”;

both loaves,
at this table for two
one table, two loaves of bread

when I was 8

I lost my first tooth

a milestone I looked forward to

and celebrated

with pillow talk and fairies

and a quarter;

if only every loss could be

no more

than a distraction for my tongue

and an entry in my baby book

Instead of the emptiness of suffering

In a world without pillow talk

I have Wonder Woman lipstick
and I am not afraid to use it!

I have the cape as well
but I don’t need to brag about that,
you already know.

Feminine strength
rooted in kindness
and an attitude of believing
in the best in others,
as well as an axis of evil.

I take your plotting
your palsey-walsey mask
and I engage you with suspicion
worthy of your cunning

I suggest you engage me
with similar resolve
because I already warned you
I have Wonder Woman lipstick
and I am not afraid to use it!

it is not a sin to wear pants
Mulan, St. Joan of Arc, Marinus, Pope Joan, Anne Bonny
it is not a sin to wear pants

to disguise yourself
as a man
to do the things
peculiarly
reserved for men,
it is not a sin to wear pants

to be pirate or priest
or military might
to study in university
to travel in safety
or farm on you own,
it is not a sin to wear pants

be subversive, oh, be subversive
claim what is yours
live what you dream
pave for the next generation
or mine,
it is not a sin to wear pants

one day little girls
will be inspired by you
your courage
your creativity
your persistence,
and they will wear pants
but not in disguise
it is not a sin to wear pants

we went to the sugar mill
with cameras instead of raincoats
to take pictures of the evening storm
a rare occurrence in Colorado harvest season;
trusting that the tomato and tomatillo plants she had untangled earlier in the day
could fend for themselves
while we played like frogs in the rain
and took pictures of our favorite landmark,
a mystery we’d only ever seen from the outside,
a three dimensional experience
that neither camera nor poem can every capture

once upon a time
in the land that we know
the world slowed down its spinning

instead of a day
to completely revolve
a month was needed to rotate from end to beginning

the dark of the night
now lasted two weeks
without a new sunrise or sunset

but stargazing time
was most popular now
with constellations you couldn’t forget

new quick growing seeds
somehow developed
that could grow with just two weeks of light

bedtimes for the children
just got too confusing
but we had just one time zone and that sounds just right

the cucumbers in the garden have a lot of room
to roam, to run
but instead they try to climb the tomatillo plant
or the sunflowers
no matter how many times we tell them, “no”

the teenagers in the house have a lot of time
to roam, to run
but instead they try to stretch the boundaries of curfews
or chores
no matter how many times we tell them, “no”

we pick the cucumbers and bring them in the house
to pickle
or eat in sandwiches

we watch the teenagers grow up and leave
to blossom
and eventually bloom

the midwife’s brow frowned,
the labor was not going well
the first time mother
was holding back instead of pushing through

the midwife called for the father in the next room
beckoning his violin too
wooing him to play his cherished jig;
like the swallow-tailed birds must sing each day into being
so too this father would sing his daughter into this world

the man with cooing melody and adept fingers
looked into the eyes of his beloved
beginning with a calming cadence of string
that lulled her back into the rhythm of her body
rolling waves not of pain but of covenant

a quicker step, a crescendo
husband and wife in unison now
a dance similar to the night this child was begotten
and mother and father were first revealed

the midwife hummed,
background music in a scene already filled with song
tapping toes
to the echos of a hollow violin body
until the echos of a hollow room
are filled with the newest song
of a girl child
who sings a jig and taps a lyric never known before
with barely a wingbeat;
this day is beginning

I was born before the color blue,
she hadn’t been missed yet,
have you?

I grew up
under a sky
that held light and dark
like others hold or release their breath

I swam in an ocean
and fished in its depths
and stood on its beaches
as it kissed my toes

I grew up to become a poet
shaping what I saw with words
spoken into the moon
and that’s when I noticed
blue
shared her with you
a sapphire gem of cerulean proportions
who wouldn’t be contained in just one poem
or just one sky
or just one ocean
or just one word,
would you?

I first noticed her web
in the apple tree
after the rain,
holding droplets
and waving like a flag in the breeze after the storm,
a misleading wave
like surrender
when it is all really a trap
and it isn’t sunlight captured in those droplets
but death and darkness
in a flirtatious curl
tempting others
unsuspecting
or poorly educated
to venture across these webby strands
a shortcut,
oh yes, a short cut,
a life to be cut
short,
a baffled cootie now destined to be
the next meal

how more civilized as I
walk across the yard
and pluck
an apple from the tree
take a bite
after the spider and I pray together,
“bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts”