The Shoes

The Shoes

The shoes, gray, worn, with a small hole near the big toe area
Carrying the young man
In his daily life
To school and back
To the driveway to shoot baskets
To the batting cages to hit baseballs
To the driveway to take the dog for a walk

Occasionally, to my car to come for a visit

"Where are my shoes? I can't find them."

"Just grab another pair......"

No, there isn't another pair.
Just the one. pair. of. shoes.

"Do you need another pair?"
"No, I just need one pair."

******************************************************

"Nice boots!" I say "Let me see them." I add
He takes them off and I notice the details, the stitching, the zipper 
He tries them on, "I think they are too big. I didn't try them on, I just grabbed them cause the store was about to close."

We exchange them for a pair that fit perfectly.

******************************************************
I'd like to get another pair of nice shoes, like these boots."
"Well lets go to Kohl's or JCPenny's and see what they have."
Boots on, boots off
Boots on, boots off
Brown, black, gray
Gray and tan
Zippers, no zippers

"These gray ones are nice."
"Yes, they are."

The milk lets down, without a thought
My shirt is damp now

******************************************************


"I think I need a new pair of tennis shoes, do you think we could go shopping for some?"
As a tide rolls in and crashes naturally on the beach, my love rolled out and saturated the sand.

The jetty, once 10 feet high, 
built to keep the waves off the sand, and sea oats, and beach morning glories
Disappeared.

******************************************************
Buy one get one 50% off
"Let's find a pair of black boots"
Here comes the flood of milk
It runs down and out
saturating my soul
My feet are standing in a puddle of love
The gate, opened by the child himself, allows the milk to flow

As an over-full breast aches and pounds with a desire to be free
My heart's cork has been pulled out, by the hand of a child, 
my last one,
my baby boy
now a  young man
But will always remain, forever, my child
And I will forever have a flow of love for him
As every mother has for her child
No matter the age, or circumstance or condition of life

******************************************************

Milk flows and flows and flows
And the ache ends
And the chest relaxes
And the tears of joy cascade into a puddle
and mix with the milk
And the puddle shows the colors of love

5:30 am

I'm up at 5:30 am, reading another chapter of Eat, Pray Love, and I'm not worried about myself, or anyone else. Strange. Yes. This is strange for me. If I'm up at 5:30 am, ANYDAY, then it's because I'm worried. I don't usually know what I'm worried about, I just get that feeling that somebody, somewhere, is in danger. Like, a bear is about to eat them, they are pinned against a tree. Or they are on a boat, sound asleep, and it's sinking. And, while I don't fear death, I do think that drowning would be the worst way to go. Maybe because I love to swim so much, and have found peace, in very large amounts, while underwater.
It's been 46 days since the atom bomb blue up in my lap, so this being able to enjoy a 5:30 am moment, is a miracle. I realized I just typed the word 'blue' instead of 'blew," but i think the color is more accurate. I've been in a bucket of blue for some time now. Not just 46 days, off and on, pretty much for the past couple of years.

A pending custody case had me in a holding pattern. That's over now. And I'm handling the fall-out.

One thing I experienced last night was this---I curled up on my new chaise lounge, ivory, with plum colored pillows and a matching throw that's softer than a chincilla, ready to read the next chapter in Eat, Pray, Love, and felt my eyelids getting heavy. Sitting a few feet away was my son, who was getting a video cued up, a dance group called, "Remote Control" appeared on the screen. Three men, spray-painted gold, in their 3 piece suits, began moving to electronic music. They jerked to the beat of the music, moving their bodies like robots, or better yet, like action figures, with joints that will go in ANY direction. The kind that adults and kids alike will put in unnatural poses, and then laugh at the hideousness hilarity a deformity. Like a fat warrior who can put his sword up his ass, while his shield is stuck between his legs, bent over backwards, with his head cocked to the side. On a relateable note-And that is exactly how I have felt for the past couple of years. Just because I can twist into a strange position, doesn't make it good.
So, we're watching this video together, my daughter joins us, and I am amazed. These aren't just good dancers, they are quintessentially in charge of their bodies. It's beautiful to watch such mastery. After each move, I utter, "Oh my God, that's amazing! Look at his legs! That's CRAZY!" My son responds after about my fifteenth, expression, "I know, I know..." He sounds a bit irritated at my repititious glee, so I become quiet. I guess he wants me to watch in silence. That's hard for me...I like to say what I'm thinking. After a few minutes pass, "Mom, what do you think?"
"Well, I think they are amazing, I'm being quiet now though, because you said, "I know, I know...mom" and it sounded like you were irritated with my constant comments."
"Oh, I"m sorry. You can tell me what you think. Which one is your favorite?"
The guy on the right had just done a solo. He was really good. "I like this guy on the right."
"Just wait mom, The guy on the left is better. You'll see."
He was right, the guy on the left did some freaky things, he looked like he was suspending himself on one leg, above the ground, and then getting electrocuted. Not that electrocution is something you wanna see. But that is the only thing I can think of to express what it looked like. The guy vibrated his hands and arms. And he was gold, and electrical music was playing.....
Next, I wanted to see what the guys really looked like. (They had been wearing masks.)
So, google images search took care of the mystery.
After that, I slid back on my chaise lounge to read, while brother and sister began watching silly videos. I thought I should get up and take my sleep medication, but I was too sleepy to get up. "Well, when I wake up, unable to sleep, I'll take it." I thought.
An hour or so later, loud music blared, not sure how much time had passed, I simply asked, "Could you turn it down a little?"
It felt like 3 hours, but it had only been about 20 minutes. The deep slumber I had last night was marvelous. I did wake up a few times, feeling a little too warm, but was able to go back to sleep, fairly well. I had one pretty bad dream, but compared to the ones I've had over the past two years, it was mild, and didn't keep me awake.
I've found myself writing in my head a whole lot the past couple of weeks. I think of a simple line to start out with, something that encompasses what is going on in my life, but I haven't had the courage or desire to see my own thoughts on the paper.
This morning, though, I feel a breakthrough.
I realized that I sleep best when I know my children are safe.
That is why I didn't need any sleep medicine last night.
I had been told that they are suffering from serious mental and psychological abuse by their father. Several experts have detailed this to me. And it's on-going.
What I am witnessing is that my children are strong, resilient, and are going through this very difficult chapter of their lives, together. TOGETHER.
It's nearly a repeat of my adolesence. The middle child, the peace-maker, was the last to leave my home...and she's not going for herself, she's going to try and please someone else. I so understand this motivation and action.
I feel for her, but I know that she had to find her own voice, just as I found mine. Walking through tough terrain makes tough feet, and builds muscle.

Bats

Everything is done.
Clothes washed
Kitchen clean
Lesson Plans written.
And now there is a space for nothing
So I let nothing be here.
And in it I find hope
and wishes emerging
Of a new life.
Not my will
But something far bigger.
All I have to do is
strike the steel bat at
doubts and fears
so The Hope will flood my world.

Daily, small brown-faced bats dive into my
serene world.
Their radar hears my unasked questions.
Of "why?" and "how did...?" and the ultimate
dream killer, "what if...?"
They carry a poision, that feeds my fears.
Their goal, to swoop down and bite my neck, inject
potent, concentrated fear.
Today, I am ready for them.
Because it's my world, damn it.
Not theirs!



My simple, uncluttered world.
With a wood stove
and small kitchen
and a bathtub that needs repair.
Those things don't really matter.
Because peace is not in the design
on my kitchen floor
Or the rust stained bathtub
or the hole in the shower wall.
Peace is in my heart. And it will stay there
as long as I fight to keep away
the low flying bats.
I must keep a small stick in my back pocket
to ward off those little critters.
I must go now, out into my wet, foggy
front yard, to look for a stick
to put in my back pocket.
Have a nice day.

The hole

He’s at the bottom of a hole.

Will you put down the shovel?

And take a hold of the ladder rung.

The first one is the hardest.

“The hole is deep. It doesn’t seem like there is a way out.”

Hearing of his hopelessness, oh, so hard.

But, a ray of hope. When asked, “Who is someone who could help you?”

“It would be my

Sister.”

The sister that people used to ask him about

“Is she your twin?”

The sister that he laid beside in the backseat of the van on long trips to Kentucky,  and in chorus said, “Cockadoddledoo” when they went under the bridge.

The sister that put make-up on him,

And polished his nails

And recently, shaped his bushy eyebrows.

The sister that he says is his friend.

This sister.

The one that has been depressed and anxious since he moved out.

Separating siblings is probably one of the hardest things a child can go through.

Seeing them both suffer, and not being able to do anything about it, has been like a stone around my neck, that swings and hits every part of my heart.

Watching him wander, stumble, and fall…..over and over.

Watching her slide into a pit of despair, unable to eat or sleep or laugh….for days.

Is a mother’s pain.

There is none other to compare.

I constantly remind myself of Mary’s sacrifice of her son.

The pain she endured…. I cannot even imagine.

This gives me a special kind of comfort.

She cries with me. She pulls me into her arms and says, “I know your pain.”

I trust that this sacrifice is forming a man that would otherwise never be made.

I pray.

And I know Mary, Joseph, the angels, my mother, my grandmother, Jesus, and God hear me. My family prays with me, for me, and for him.

But the important thing is, I pray.

Gay Safe House

"Is Darian coming over tonight?" I asked my 18 year old daughter.

"Yea, he'll be here around 7." She said as she walked from the bathroom back to her bedroom. "He's gonna help me clean my room.

It had been 3 days since I'd asked her to clean it. The floor, littered with dirty and clean clothes and random dishes, was borderline hazardous to walk through. But, if she wanted to leave the house, she had to clean it. Hence, Darian's arrival at 7.

She was smart, witty, driven and lit up a room when she entered it. She had that intangible 'something' that people label charisma. After graduation, she asked if she could take some time off, not start college right away. I thought it was a good idea.

"Work and save your money for college. Avoid the student loans if you can."

She'd agreed and that was that.

On her days off, streams of young people entered our home. Jack, who works full-time at chick-fil-a. Then there's Pat, who pops in unannounced and begins telling me about her recent dramatic event.
"I cut all my hair off. You like it?"

"I love it Pat! It's very cute on you."

"Well, my mom hates it! I'm banned from Angel's house now. Cause she cut it for me. My mom says it makes me look like a lesbian. And that's NOT OKAY with her."

"I think it suits you Pat. You've got amazing curls." I reached over to touch them and she smiled.

Lilly walked into the kitchen.

"Hey Pat! When did you get here?"
"I've been here a minute. I'm talking to your mom."

"Come to my room, I wanna show you the new video. We are going to learn the dance today. And Darian's going to do our photo shoot!"

"After you clean your room!" I shout as she and Pat walk down the hall.

The next day

Lilly and I are putting away clean dishes and chatting.

"You did it again Lilly. Your room looks great! How you manage to get people to help you.....every time...." I shook my head and opened the cabinet holding the glasses.

"Will you do the silverware please? You know how I hate that sound." She said, as she put away the plates.

"Yes, if you'll sweep the floor."

"Deal."

She finished sweeping and walked into the living room where I was curled up on the sofa watching Law and Order.

"I love Pat's new haircut. I can't believe her mom banned her from Angel's house." I said, sliding over making room for Lilly.
"You know her mom hates it that Pat's gay, don't you? She's a super Christian."
"Well, that's just so sad."
"I can't wait for you to see the photos Damian took. They are really good! We did night time shots."
"He's such an artist! I hope he gets into SCAD."
Lilly's phone beeped and she hopped up and headed to her room.
"Thanks for being the gay safe house mom." She said just before her bedroom door closed.
"What?" I snapped my head around.
"Yea, you know that all my gay friends come over here because they can be themselves. Darian, Jack, Pat, Dora, Laura, Renna." She stood outside her room.
"Oh, that's great! Thanks for telling me." I grinned and I wiped away a tear.

I'd always wanted to have the house where kids felt loved and accepted. I wanted to be the mom that fed every kid in the neighborhood peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The safe house. Yep. that's what I'd wanted for my life. Without realizing it, I'd achieved my goal.

Pain Past

When the sadness creeps in during my sleep
I shake it off
Tell myself, "Its all in the past."
And go forward.

The shadows of the past, lurking on my pillow.
Its a chance of luck.
Will I hear something today, that reminds me of that time....
When I cried myself to sleep because my house was too empty?

or when My children didn't come home on a Sunday?
Or
The time when I beat myself up, wondering if it was my fault?
And beat pillows, pretending it was his face?

When I entered the high school, after crying all the way to work
And put on a pretend smile for the students walking by?

Sadness seeped out by day, and by night I collapsed under the weight of my grief.

If I don't dream, I don't feel it so much.
But I have to go to sleep.
So I pray the dreams are pleasant.

The Blue Lights

A single motorcycle

Led the silent parade

Face serious, determined

Eyes focused ahead

Leaning a little forward

A second motorcycle followed

A copy of the first

Then blue flashing lights

Announcing the long black car

The faces on the other side of the street

Solemn

Some holding small flags

A young man with his hat off

An older woman saluting

The long black car

Passed us by

I didn’t know this hero

Byt I felt a deep sadness

For his wife, his children,

His parents, his friends,

His co-workers

His neighbors

Even the people whom

He probably gave a ticket to

For speeding

Just in front of my church

We all silently stood by

While the blue flashing lights

Slowly passed

A parade of blue from Locust Grove Police.

Henry County Sheriff

Our neighbors from Newton and Butts

One from Eatonton, and Border Patrol

And many, many others

The tears slipped out as the procession continued

No one spoke

We all just stood and felt the wound

When one of us is injured

We are all injured.

If we sit at home

And watch it on TV

We don’t see everyone else’s pain

Close up

As I stood and watched each policeman

Drive by,

Some wiping their tears,

Others holding a strong face

Determined to keep it together

I felt the thread that binds us all together

When one human suffers, and we experience together

It is no less painful, but it connects us

And helps us heal..

Because we were all injured that day

Our brother, neighbor, son, father, fellow citizen took the bullet for us

And I honored him by standing in silence.

Thank you to everyone who showed up today

So we could grieve together.

We are stronger for it.

Love binds us together.

I think I'm in love with Frida Kahlo

I think I’m in love with Frida Kahlo.

Everytime I see her face, whether a photo or a beautiful broken self-portrait,
I feel my heart lunge outwards.

Like it’s trying to reach her.

This woman, so broken physically, yet so immensely spiritually whole.

Colored her pain, her despair

She broke through the brokeness

Like reaching through a solid wall with her bare hand

She danced so close to death, on a daily basis

Yet did not retreat into a shell

Or the depths of depression

Her drive pulls me to her

I want to brush her hair

And weave beautiful ribbons in her braids

I want to walk to the market and find brilliant flowers

To dress up her up-do

I want to iron her dresses

And shine her shoes

Because I find her to be the freeest woman I’ve ever known.

And a free woman is a beauty unlike any other

Response to EB Browning Sonnet XXVI

Fractured family

The empty spot, where the man should be, would be, could be

Is like a home hit by a bolt of lightening

A wall missing leaving the home open

On one side

Vulnerable to wind, rain, sheets of ice

For years, I imagined a new wall, covering the home

The material would be solid and strong

Or would it be pink with flowers and fancy decorations

Or simply a sheer screen, veiling us from the harsh world

But thin enough to see the beauty on the other side

Maybe just a series of windows, from floor to ceiling, no drapes

Just an avenue of sunlight to drape my inner world

Then, a moment came, when I forgot the open wall was there

And walked outside

And stood in the rain, felt the ice on my feet, and the winds rush through my hair

And realized the gift of the open wall took me directly towards my dreams