let the sun shine

so, i've been pretty pensive. it's just one of those times where a lot of emotion got released and everything kind of got stood up on its head and now we just have to be patient while it settles into the new now, the new real. my nephew is pretty hurt. i think everyone is pretty hurt. when so much goes flying at once, lots of people get wounded by the fallout. (just read the last battle scene of harry potter if you doubt me)

so anyway...

we're schooling here. and grateful to be doing it. i'm one of those moms checking off her daily "to do" list. and the kids and i are glad to have interesting things to talk about. we were getting kind of tired of the whole "and what do you think he was trying to communicate when he pushed you?" line of discussion over and over and over... we're doing history, spelling, creative writing, grammar, handwriting, math, creative journaling, and english from the roots up. i can see where we'll soon finish one of these and have a space for a science for awhile. it's like we're actually doing what i've been wanting to do for a long time. i guess we all finally got mature enough. (and know that i am sure my own maturity was primary in getting us here...)

alright, so i have a number of friends who are brilliant writers. i have a good friend who has agreed to let me post a beautiful poem she wrote awhile back. poetry...wow...there's something i haven't done in awhile. but denise did...and here's her poem. (the spacing's a little wonky. when i copy and paste these, the spacing goes away altogether.) but all the words are hers...enjoy.

The Last Straw

It is loneliness that makes the loudest noise.
Eric Hoffer

She falls into bed exhausted
leaden arms, collapsed shoulders
throbbing feet
aches of loneliness
miles between her side
and his
her weak voice, anticipates rejection
“Will you rub my feet?”

Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn.

He grumbled, tossed, rolled
unintelligible words mumbled
over his lips into the brocaded comforter
lost in spongy astronaut fibered pillows

The sheep’s in the meadow,

A little stronger now, what the hell
it wasn’t like she came begging for a blow job
“My feet, they ache, I was on them all day,
chasing children, working horses.”
Please will you rub them?”

The cow’s in the corn

She flashed to the days
when they spent more nights
apart than together,
recalled empty-bedded evenings wishing him next to her
living on promises of things to come:
loving, simple caresses, intimate conversations
moments
when they would be together
now,
he was here
and they were never further apart

Where is the boy that looks after the
sheep?

Her plea for touch
to validate the emptiness
of a mother’s, a wife’s, a woman’s duties
asking for
someone to turn to in these days of
midlife crises and fading bliss
With a pillow in the crook of his arm
fisted hand under his head
back to his beloved
he pulls covers over his shoulders
blanketing out her request
erasing her existence

He’s under the haystack fast asleep.

he begins to snore

Will you wake him?

She considers her options
throbbing arches, cracking knees
calves with strings of hot muscle running up and down
and up and down
she flings back covers, plomps an old
threadbare pillow under her legs
lies back and slowly
recovers herself.
Turning away, she closes her eyes
and mentally begins the list
the list of belongings she’ll tuck in her suitcase
tomorrow morning

Will you wake him?
No, not I;
For if I do, he’ll be sure to cry.

dlmoore may 8, 2007