My Children
One of the first things I always tell people
is
I have nine children.
I wait for the reaction.
I have seen it, heard it
Hundreds of times before
Yet, I need it.
Need the affirmation of my difference.
My children are my Pride.
I am the Mother, the Lioness, of this Pride.
They are part of me
I made them
They are dearer to me than my life
They have taught me so much more than I
taught them
They have given me so much more than I gave
them
They have been to me so much more than I
have been to them
They will never know.
Until I am a grandmother.
There is
No thing I would not do
No place I would not go
They do not need me so much now
Sometimes, though, they do.
The need completes me.
I am their mother.
*************************
Lonnie
On our first date, I thought
This man will be a great father
I was only in high school
Why would I think such a thing on a first
date?
Took me a few more dates to tell him.
“I thought of going into the priesthood
for awhile,
But decided not to.” Is this what
Catholics think
When someone says they will be a great father?
Three years later, we were married.
Four years later, he was a father, but not
a priest.
And I was, as I so often am, right.
He was a great father.
And so he is.
****************************
Tom
“What do you do?” I ask.
“I am a carpenter,” says he,
“How about you?”
“Me? Oh, that’s easy. I am in
love.
With you.”
And so I was.
Just like that.
An easy, soft fall
That ripped the shell of my world, my future,
Into shreds.
Like a molting, a shedding.
Giving me a new future.
One filled with ecstatic love.
Nights of wonder.
Days of fun.
This man turns wood into art.
This man turns me. Turns me.
Changes me. Changes him.
Many many many many babies.
Teaming. Together. Holding fast.
A gradual letting go.
But an incomplete one.
Always connected.
Whispered words and promises
We made when we were wed.
Thank you, love, for meaning what you said.
Thank you, love, for meaning.
********************************
James –
my partner in practical logistics
and improbable dreams
James
–
my tormentor in withholding
what he can control
James
–
my opportunity in acceptance
and letting go
James –
my
everything
and my nothing
James –
my wordless cuddler in the dark
and my doer of good deeds in the light
James –
my friend, my child, my brother, my father,
my
love.
***********************
The Girls
“I want a dog.” says James.
“You want a dog?”
Yes.
“What kind of dog?”
Brown and fun. Find me a dog like that.
And I do.
Because I love him and I want him to be
happy.
If a dog will make him happy again, I will
surely find a dog.
Brown and fun.
Sheltie. Brown. I bet she’ll be fun.
Your name is James. My name is Jacquie.
Let’s call her Justice.
We get her. Love her immediately.
Like the parent of a first-born, I know
what kind of puppy I will raise.
She will not sleep in the bed.
She will not jump on people.
She will stop barking when I say stop.
Within days, she is sleeping where she wants,
Jumping and barking at her own will.
She makes his eyes twinkle, though, like
I once did.
And she makes him laugh like I once did.
I love the twinkle and the laughter.
We’re in a house now so we get another
dog.
This one is for me. Liberty. My girl.
Liberty and Justice.
And one for Tom. Patriot.
Twice the fun. Twice the dog hair.
Everywhere.
Christmas is coming. What does James need?
A puppy. Just like the perfect Christmas
fantasy.
I pick her up on Christmas Eve morning and
put her in a box.
I say, “Let’s open our presents
now!” And we do.
Liberty and Justice cannot stop smelling
the box, but James does not notice.
The box is on the table and they cannot
reach it.
I see it move. I give it to him and he opens
it and there is – America!
Our three girls.
Who would have thought I would love dogs
so much?
Not me.
They are our little family.
Barking, jumping, and sleeping where they
want.
****************************
Joel
“He’s
coming in this weekend.”
That’s
what Tom says and
Only
then do I realize that I have missed
The
“who” of the “he.”
I hate
it when I get distracted like that.
“Who
is coming in this weekend, baby?”
Big
sigh. He repeats for my wandering mind.
“A
guy I met online. Joel. He’s from the Valley.”
That’s
how it started.
And
that’s almost how it ended.
Fun.
Interesting. Just friends.
Still
looking for that guy. The one.
Tom’s
requirements are too restrictive.
He will
not find someone like he wants.
His
list of requirements is too long.
Friendly.
Outgoing. Not bored by him. Not boring.
Accepts
his situation – marriage, children.
Understands
the necessity of shifting priorities
In a
family with so many children.
Same
music. Same television.
Won’t
need more than he can give.
Love
his kids. Love his wife. Love his cooking.
Love
his house. Love his carpentry. Love him.
Show
him with deeds. Tell him with words.
I tell
him he will not find that man.
He cannot
keep thinking that he won’t be happy unless he does.
Joel
is definitely not that guy
Because
they are just friends.
Yep.
Just friends.
And
then Joel is back. Again. Again. Again.
Still,
they’re just friends.
Tom
confesses, “I miss him when he is gone.”
Just
friends. I smile because I see what he refuses to see.
Joel
is here more weekends than he is not here.
Almost
without our noticing, he has become part of our family.
A friend,
just a friend, of our family.
He blesses
our family with his extravagance.
His
generosity. His trust. His faith in us. In me.
Closer
and closer, these friends.
Their
lights grow brighter when they are together.
At last,
without ceremony, rings are worn.
They
are partners.
They
are forever.
Joel
is friend and family and partner and guardian angel.
Tom
is happy because he really did find that guy.
And
it is nearly always true that
“He’s
coming in this weekend.”
************************
Rusk
From the moment we found 4447
As we were driving and looking at homes
Our fifth on this day
I was in love with a house.
And a neighborhood.
My grandparents walked these streets.
They worked here. Raised children here.
My parents did, too.
Moved just before my birth to a house
Not 10 minutes away.
Thought to be the edge of town.
Edge of the world.
Now I am back to roots much older than me
This house is as old as my mother.
Everything that could remain as old is here.
Everything that needed to be made new is
here.
Wrap-around porch. My dream.
Many windows to bring the outside in. The
inside out.
What’s that noise?
Ah, it is the comfort of a train. Just behind
us, a track.
The inexplicable peace-giving sound of passing
trains to keep us company.
Can it be ours?
My mother’s life found this place.
James’s mother’s death gifted
us this place.
I own part of it. I have papers that tell
me so.
I have marked this territory
Just as surely as the birds in the trees
have marked their spaces
And the insects in the ground.
The simple truth is, though,
I do not own this house so much as
This house owns me.
This house is my comfort.
This house is my home.
This is
at last the house that
Wipes its hands on its white apron as you
walk inside,
Immediately inquiring as to your spiritual
well-being, your balance, your center.
I look out the windows of my eyes through
the windows of this house
I am filled with gratitude that from beneath
my toes all the way to the sky I see above
This house owns me.
**********
I Imagine Myself Old
I imagine myself old --
Hair silver as the fading moon
Skin wrinkled and worn thin
Bones stiff as winter wheat in a savory field.
But life still tastes good
Above and below.
I would probably have more trouble
With the ghosts of the past
If my memory wasn’t shot to hell.
I sacrifice boredom to live in complete happiness.
Of course, older doesn’t always mean wiser.
Sometimes it just means older.
Still –
I imagine myself old --
Brimming with wisdom’s light,
Knowing, as I do, ebb and flow.
Having seen death wash up on my shore,
Having carried home parts of it in my pocket,
Having arranged it on the altar of my life and said prayers.
Old –
My belly shaking with laughter,
My eyes twinkling,
Teaching and learning,
Dancing and singing,
Giving and taking,
Loving and creating,
Dissenting and enlivening,
Seeing, growing, sweating, changing,
Bleeding on the pages of my life,
Walking through walls,
Living with intention,
Savoring the miracle of every hour.
**********
“I’m a Witch.”
“You’re a WHAT?”
“I’m a Witch.”
“No, you’re not. You’re really nice. You’re a good
person.”
Big sigh.
Here we go again.
“Right. I don’t live in a gingerbread cottage in the forest.
I don’t melt if you throw water on me.
I have never been to Hogwarts.
I don’t have green skin or a wart on the end of my nose.
I don’t eat children – even though I’ve been told they
Taste like chicken.”
Confusion in their eyes. Or curiosity.
So I explain the religion and science
Of Witchcraft.
Simple terms. Straight forward.
Part history. Part terminology. Lots of humor.
“Yes, I do spells, mix potions, have rituals.
I don’t worship satan. I don’t sacrifice animals.
I do not recruit. I do not proselytize.
Yes, I worship. God and Goddess. Many of them.
You disagree? Feel like spending eternity saying, ‘ribit’?”
This is stereotype-busting. I love that part.
Mostly, the reaction is good.
There was one woman who outright condemned me.
Challenged me to put my Goddess
Against her God. I had to laugh.
Closed minds are often funny when they don’t mean to be.
My Craft is both my anchor and my sail.
It is the core of who I am in a way that
Most people can never comprehend.
It requires spiritual surgery. Paying attention.
Air Fire Water Earth – elements of astral birth.
Air my flight
Fire my passion
Water my balance
Earth my stability
Spirit my everything
Witchcraft my home.
