Tag Archives: grandparents

A Thought on My Parents

If I have children who meet my parents, they’ll never know them as I knew them. Those people are gone. They’ll not recognize the soft, cuddly, chubby Mom I grew up with, who wore few bras and had short curled hair. They won’t know my father with these strange eye magnifying glasses. He hasn’t said it yet, but I’m waiting. I wait for the phrase, “I’d like to be able to play with my grandchildren.” They won’t know them without the pains in their knees and backs. They won’t know them without those added years of I-could-have-done piling on guilt from time. They’ll only know the wrinkles, never to see how beautiful my Mom could be. And then they’ll die while my kids are in college, and my kids will care. But not really, they never really knew them before their minds went. Never had the chance. The kids were too young. They had me too late. It’s too late to know them.

That might not be bad after all. Maybe I can dull all they the messups they did to me through a filter for the next ones down. If they never meet the originals, they can’t spread the fire of self-hate they gave to their children. If I can’t see them, I won’t be them. I have a chance to be better for me and mine.

10 Poems in 20 Minutes (Day Sixty-Eight)

I got one of those blue slushies of some raspberry flavor. My tongue is blue. I terrorize villagers with my plague of color.

I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes
Day 68

Poem 1:
I passed a jogger on the trail
A youngish lady, a bit overweight
I figured she ran in the woodsy trail
Avoid the eyes of the judgmental.
She looks in my eyes, passerby
Checks to make sure I hold no hate
To give her way.

Poem 2:
I’ll do this work for you
Compromise it all
Those, I should only do for good
Or, don’t push toward the better.
No, I’ll work for you
For something I want.
A collector’s book, hard to find,
Costs more than I own.

Poem 3:
It’s quiet up there today
In my head
I keep looking
Poking around the open boxes
But not much
Nothing happening

Poem 4:
After he died
I said the same thought
In all the tenses.
I had a grandfather.
My grandpa did.
My grandpa was.
I saw memories of him in the silliest
Little glimpses
That was the exit they lived off of
He used to like tomatoes.

Poem 5:
She said, while I stood on the stairs untangling a braid,
I forget sometimes how beautiful you are.
Thanks, I think, you say to that.

Poem 6:
He keeps beer in the basement
Under the wooden stairs
Next to the portable television with rabbit ears
Folding chairs and piles of papers
Shotguns and old square cartridge boxes.
Not the place for all my learning.
I tone me down.

Poem 7:
I cover up for my pathless meanders
Who wants to plan and plans to plan.
He hides behind his weight
The food that keeps them away at bay.
She shies the down married shame
With protestant works and eye of a camel breaking.
She waves over her feminist career behind
A husband she wants to support.

Poem 8:
If you play dumb
When you fall over shoelaces
It’s normal not sensationalized
And they take no notice.

Poem 9:
I sat on the kitchen swivel chairs
With high wooden backs
Pink velcro step down light up shoes
He brought an old pair
So I could learn to tie.
He showed me twice, three times.
You should get this by now.
I’ll leave you to practice.

Poem 10:
We competed to help make breakfast
Argued to be the favorite.
He liked it that way.
But didn’t care if it went the other.
He’d read a new book about our behavior.
He understood that need to be needed the best
Over the sister.
He gloried in his attention sought approval.
While we stirred pancake batter with extra sugar.