On the Anniversary of a Death

On the Anniversary of a Death

here on my patch of grassy hill

my head above hers, the grave

my thoughts and anticipation sift down

imagining her lying there, close

.

my sister, where have you gone?

inspiration, you've fled

unfettered, you've flown

your mystical presence here gone

.

these are the words of consideration

my eyes looking through grass

"our grass, our hill, our overlook, our sky"

our wonderful memories slanting through my hesitation

.

feelings melt, dripping, dropping

upon the cavernous soul, awake, alive

on this point, this axis between our foreheads

the world rotates, the moon revolves

you are mine

When Parents Fail

Whenever I envisioned raising kids (which wasn't really that often) I never really spent much brain cell activity on thinking of how I would enact the tooth fairy. probably a good thing as I don't need to be all that disappointed in a dream unrealized. right as she turned seven, Lyric lost two of her front choppers. there was some drama and blood and lots of wiggling until we got 'em out - amid exclamation and exhalation and sighs of relief on all sides. I've never been one to play up all the fantasies of pop culture such as St. Nick and co, but putting her incisors under the pillow at night had started out as a fun tradition, and has now promptly ended - thanks to our malaise and her quick wit.

.

the first two times we forgot to replace the tooth with U.S. currency, we tried to play it off as a late or absent-minded fairy. perhaps she was extra busy that night, or perhaps she was extra sneaky - putting the money under the pillow right after Lyric got up and was trying to figure out what had went wrong. Lyric was skeptical, but she was enjoying the cash. on the third failed attempt, my 7 year-old daughter decided to lay low. she evidently didn't think Dad and Mom had much to offer by way of explanation.

.

when we sat down for breakfast, I could tell something was wrong and upon interrogation, she mumbled dejectedly, "everytime I put a tooth under the pillow, I check in the morning and it's still there. then I ask Mom and Dad about it and then it is there. It's so embarrassing!" she rolled her eyes for effect. I had to laugh in spite of myself, even though I could tell she was downright serious and even a bit insulted. I hugged her teary face and apologized for being such an unreliable tooth fairy stand in. I never was much good at telling lies.