April 5^th and 6th

Skipped April 5^th as I was busy and exhausted. April 6^th, still busy, exhausted, but finally caught a nap and feel so much better! It has been a rough week in the news and in so many personal lives. Friends of ours who long for a baby lost their child in the early stages. I remember losing five of mine and the pain with each, especially the last that I held in my hand before letting them slip away into the water.

 Mizuko kuyō (水子供養) is a Japanese ceremony for miscarriage.  It means water child. It is letting the child go into the water and be at peace. There is more to it as a Buddhist practice, for those who mourn the loss.

 My friends planted a tree to mark the loss of two little ones. My father and mother did that after they lost my brother at only about 10 days old. I wish I’d done more ceremonies to our losses. I wrote poetry and drew pictures but it was a lonely and terrible time in our marriage as we were raising our one child and mourning the loss of several. Yet, I remember what it was like not to have any children or think they would come, which is a huge loss when you are hoping to bring one into existence from the love you share. Trying to put all of this into words, here is my clumsy poem to share grief with my friends. I hope for better days for them.

Tariffs seem to be the other subject we can’t escape these days. So, here's a short, pithy poem on that subject, too.

 Washing Mizuko kuyō

I saw you before you were here

I was looking for you there, scared

Surprised by delight in the night

I knew you had survived

To thrive was our goal

To one day stroll

Hand in hand, skipping

A lifting of thought and spirit

To inherit a part of me and him

Margins are slim

That you will become you

To stick like glue

To my insides

Residing and abiding

Safe in that space

To gain and grow

Till I can show

Shouting from the rooftops

Letting people know

You are mine

The day turned black

A pain that racks my back

My belly a sea of uncertainty

An urge to purge

The color red

Shed in the bed

That made you

I am beyond blue

Panicked I called the doctor

Who is a calm proctor

Testing my strength

As I tend to sink

She sends me a link

Of how to do this

I am pissed

This is cold

I do what I’m told

Another wave of nausea

I ran and found the cause, yeah,

This is a familiar awful territory

I sit, I reach, and out you rush,

You are whole, not crushed

I can hold you in one hand

I don’t understand

Soft, fragile, eyes closed

All tiniest fingers and toes

I wash you off and speak to you

I don’t have a clue

What else to do

Curtis Wicklund's drawing about the grief of miscarriage.

I stare in despair

Long to repair

My little girl or guy

Not in the “sky”

Here! I want you

I do, I do, I do,

Something went wrong

It wasn’t long

Enough

 

Tariffs

A tax on my brain

Would be the next step

Why not?

You could only escape it in death

These punishments for other countries

Tend to squeeze those in the middle

Who only have a dribble or two to spare

As the cupboards are bare

The whole thing seems as fair

As taxing my brain

 

 Friday, April 4^th,

^{My boy was excited about world conflicts tonight; this is where my brain went.}

^{Outlining War}

Conflict is the thing that makes a story

It gives some men glory

Picture of part of an art piece I drew

When it is on foreign soil

That is in constant boil

Down a slippery slope

Speeches full of tropes

That swallow hope

Strangling white flags

Marks the tag

A country for sale

As it grows ever pale

Guns, tanks, and bombs

Tear apart grandmas, moms

Another part of it depicts war

Kidnaps innocence

A constant flinch

At the flash and crash

Humble homes tumble

Bundled in a trundle

Of rubble that redoubles

From political trouble

That started the scumble

That has disguised this bright country

That shone, full of trees

Now barren, a desert

Blown away by the hurts

That one man defamed

Another proclaimed

The conflict started

When all sense departed

 April 3^rd Aquatic Animal Day

Sea Muse

I saw somewhere that every day on the calendar is claimed

Someone started naming days

Outside of holidays

They put a glaze over the ordinary

Before it was famous

They traded up

Today is about under the sea

The swimming creatures

That wave fins and swim

They are pinned

To this date

I can’t relate

As no one said

“Let’s have a Sarah Day!”

It could be great

Or lame

Too much fame

One is framed

As a certain thing

But it doesn’t ring

True for you

Octopi are aquatic

It seems quixotic

To throw a celebration

In honor of a creature

Who wants to float free

In the sea, unknown

At home

Not shown

Or shined up for you to see

Go visit, don’t stay

Explore today

 April 2^nd, 2025 National Autism Day

Our Boy at 16 months old in Tablisi. 

The Language of Autism

You were almost three

I’d watch you breathe

When you collapsed

Under the weight of

Your busy world

That zoomed and swirled around you

Kicking off all shoes

Dumping out my boxes, Papa’s boxes, your boxes, our boxes

To sit in an empty box

And stare at or study

The rest of your surroundings

You were quiet

Not a word of your own

Lots of borrowed words

Dr. Suess, Silverstien, and Shakespeare

Were favorites along with

Little Bear, Frog and Toad, Mr. Lunch, and Not a Box!

Every person you encountered and heard any recitation

Was memorized exclaiming, “He is so smart!”

We loved the recitations

You got across what you wanted by those borrowed stories

A language all your own

Yet, I longed to hear you want something

That you could ask for

On your own

The doctors called it autism

And said you might not get beyond the recitations

Our Young Man at 19, Mariners game.

But you did

Those stories and poems primed the pump

Of words and opinions, you have grown into

Up, up, up past all those borrowed words

You have found a deep well of your own

Autism fuels the depths of thoughts

As the words flow and overflow

About all you know

You are grown and have grown

It fills my mother’s heart

How you show how much

You love us and the world that zig zags around you

With a language all your own

 It is National Poetry Month and time for me to write a poem a day for NaPoWriMo!  Here are the first two offerings.

April 1st

A day for fools

Or of fools

Or for fools

Unbound

Unknown

Unpredictable

Nothing happens

No one dares

Everything catches

And burns, bleeds, bursts,

Breads, breaks, busts,

Debeards, dies, devastates,

Drives, dives, and destructs,

People are engaged, divorced,

And having a fifth child

Yet, it is all a net to catch

The nearest way

To make them pay

Or have some play

Or just to be gay today!

It is a joke, a note, a kind of yoke

Sparing no one

Just for fun

A day that joins all fools

 

 

 

Moonbeam Express

Photo by Mitchell Bowser on Unsplash

Faint silent sliver

A moon upturned as a grin

Floating on a sea of black

Invisible cat wearing a hat

That marks the absurd

Ambition that hovers

In my crowded mind

I look up

The corners of my mouth

Curling into a well-worn smirk

That signals the chaos

To continue to ride

Up and down, all around

Beneath the pin pricks of light

That scatter the bulbous boulders

That block my brain

Breaking them down

Scattershot lazers

Punching through a velvet curtain

Clouds lifted

Moon is energized

Like a bulb has been changed

My thoughts now rearranged

For peace to enter in

 

 NaMoWriPo #28: I was going to try for a few more poems tonight, but I just want to stop here as I'm outta gas. The next poem I publish here I'll work on it first not one of these quick takes.

I was listening to my son doing his nightly routine thinking about how his days are shaped by his “little marches”. He has done this type of comfort or need to walk/run for many years. He started doing it sometime once he started going to school and it has expanded over the years. The noises are comforting and communicate for him his mood and it is just his daily song. I love hearing him! Sometimes I do not hear it and I’ll be on the phone and someone will ask me about what the noise is and I’ll say, “Oh, that’s just my son. He’s happy.”

 Spectrum Exercise

Your heavy footfalls on wooden floors

One, two, three, four

He and I on a happy day a year ago!

Often a march or romp

This you do in the mornings

A slow slide across the floor

Mid-morning a bounce

That gets you out the door

To return in the afternoon

Up and down like a rushing wave

From your domicile to the living room

Round the kitchen and back

Cackling with giggles at invisible companions

Or a secret phrase or thought

It comes not in ones but twos

Threes or more

Stomping it out on the floor

Dancing wildly while laughing

In the evening it is time to pace

A race of words coming

Politics, weather is your tether

Your chase of thoughts

That swing round and round

As the ball is trapped 'round the pole

And words have run out

The soldier’s step

Returns and you are

Grunting and groaning

A gleeful tune

That is all your own

With song embedded

As sighs and slides of scales

Crooning loudly, fitting you together

filling in the cracks

that have formed as you dealt

with more than you thought you could or should

A putting away of the day

Contented to be at home

Headed to the winddown

You shut the door

Until tomorrow’s exercise resumes

 

NaMoWriPo #27

Give Me a Clue

In the mornings poems flow

On the way to work, I go

In the evening nothing’s there

Yes, the cupboard is completely bare

If only I could capture quick

Thoughts that are like a thrown stick

I have no faithful companion to retrieve them

If I did I wouldn’t run

Into problems walking from room to room

Feeling like an empty loom

Where someone forgets

As soon as she sits

To type this up for you

Then she hasn’t a clue