Surviving Sandy Hook

I imagine the hidden children

Choking back their fear

 Nostrils burn with smoke

Mixed with the scent of wood

In the cupboard that saves their lives.

Catch a bubble, Teacher told them.

The children aren’t here, she lied.

Should they run?

The unseen children wonder.

But Teacher knows where they are

Playing hide-and-seek.

They listen to Teacher; she knows.

And when the other children

Who hid in the closet instead,

Bolt out and race for the door

They hear the shrieks

Drowned out by firecracker pops

And after, deadly silence.

A warning then, don’t come out.

So they wait

And perhaps they pray

Silent sobs, one sound might lead

The bad man to them

And the next shrieks may be their own.

They hear the sound of footsteps running away

Stomping, not their teacher’s feet

So they peek from their cupboard

And flee, quick and quiet as mice

Step around
The bloody bodies of their friends

and Teacher.

The classroom floor is

A movie their parents

Would never allow them to watch

At least they survive

To dream their worst nightmare

Over and over again.

Motivation

Halfway to completion

A mile short of completely done

I never miss a deadline

But I slip right up to some.

Almost through but not quite there

I think of a friend’s wise words

When I’m feeling bad, I run faster, he says.

Race to the finish, then hurl.

Refrigerator Blues

The first clue

Was the melting blue goo

Seeping from the thing

Formerly known as

My refrigerator.

Eww.

At closer glance

From a kneeling stance

The appliance

Floated in a sea

Of molten liquid

Oh.

Long weekend away

Late night return

Greeted by the smell

Of rotting fruits and meat

Nothing to eat

Nothing to save

No.

Less is more

They took our old appliance

When they brought the new one

Empty shelves and vegetable bins

With the steady hum of

A cooling frost

Time to buy new ice cream.

Now.

Next

Always believed

I could make my own good luck

That I am the master of my fate

But now

Some days are longer

Than others

And I’m not sure where to look

For my joy.

Scotty and the Bear Hug

The hug heard round the world, it was

But Scotty Van D didn’t know

When the leader of the free world

Stopped by his pizza joint

Where his uplifting message would go.

The hug wasn’t planned

 Wasn’t cleared by the prez

And even Secret Service was surprised

They saw teddy bear man 

Caught up in the moment

And stood down

While they watched their boss rise.

The hug brought a smile

To the people who saw

And the photo and the man were a hit

When Scotty Van D made the rounds

Of the media circus

We wondered if his head would still fit.

Coming back to Fort Pierce

Through the pizza joint’s door

Scotty brought his fame and his joy

But he shared all his bear hugs

Like he’d always done before

With every friend

Every girl, every boy.

Fame wasn’t all roses

With Election Day approaching

The far right feared

A positive press.

Still our Scotty took the high road

(I’d like to think it’s my road)

And delivered pizza pie to the rest.

Dog Walk

The dogs' morning walk.

May be their favorite thing.

They trot along beside me,

Hunting lizards,birds and bunnies.

Today, they saw something new

A gray tiger cat just a few doors down

Sunning himself in the drive

What!  What!  I could see the wheels

Turning inside their poodle brains.

It was not our gray tiger cat, of course

Clyde passed away this summer

He was almost 17

Our first pet as a family

Pre-dog.

Still Clyde had been king of the back porch

He wandered the neighborhood proud

Everyone stopped to greet him

He loved poodles and people alike.

The dogs looked for Clyde on the porch for days

After he was no longer there.

The teens understood the cat had died

To the dogs, he had just disappeared.

As we approached the other gray cat

The poodles wagged their stubby tails

Cookie did her happy dance

Mack pulled ahead to greet the cat.

A friend of Clyde’s, perhaps they thought?

The new king of the porch? But no.

When the cat turned and ran away

Instead of running to greet them

They knew.

I had not hidden Clyde away

This was no switcheroo

We were a family

Without a cat

And now the dogs knew it, too.

A Haiku For Our First Lady

She is my hero
I vote Michelle Obama 
Buy one, get one free.

Marathon Fibs

Pounding your six-pack abs

You felt the need to lie

To make your run faster, greater

Oh, VP nominee, why?

I suspect a character flaw

That makes you insecure

You couldn’t just say you’re a runner

You had to embellish more.

For those of us lifelong runners

Who have run for miles and years

Your little white lie was serious

Not the accident it first appeared.

Who hasn’t rounded their finish time

To the next greater minute or mile?

But to take an hour off your finish time

What does that imply?

It tells me that you’re a fibber

Who thinks he’ll never get caught

I blame it on your mother

And worry those lessons untaught.

Mistakes

No one is perfect

We all make mistakes

Some are bigger than others

Like the college football player

Who scooped up the ball

And ran the wrong way

Not just a little, but a lot

Fifty-eight yards is a long way

To run the wrong way.

And I thought

Here’s the first college football

Game of the season and look

He’s already made his mark

On national TV

Sorry.  Not sorry.

So don’t whine to me

About sending a stupid text

Or two or twenty.

Or forgetting to return

A library book for six months.

Yesterday’s mistakes

Are tomorrow’s lessons

If you play attention to them.

And besides,

Did you run 58 yards the wrong way

On national television? 

Song of Cassie

She isn’t my daughter

At least of my blood

But I could not love her any more

If she was.

She comes as a pair

And I love her twin, too

He’s the voice of conscience

In her carefree world.

Ahh, but Cassie

Is so full of sparkle and fizz

That her cup runneth over

You can’t rein her in…

For all of her life

She will always be

The girl everyone

Wants to see.

The Bubble

Near to nine months large, baby boy in my belly

I cried to my doctor, take him out

Save him now.

A friend had discovered, that her baby was dead

Unborn boy strangled in her womb

By her own deadly cord. How?

Oh, sadness  Oh, fear!

Doctor patted my hand

Said, he’ll never be safer than he is in your womb.
Now, I understand.

I’ve thought back on those words as my two babies grew

The first concussion
The first broken bone

The first time my daughter was carried off the field.

As they grew into teens 
And drove off on their own

I cried about rain, and the highway too slick

I prayed for a bubble to keep them safe.

The best friend’s betrayal, the breakups, the heartache

The knowledge that although they tried

That sometimes they won't win the game or the part
And my own heart broke
When they cried.

There is no charm or guarantee of safe haven

I raised them to go off on their own.

If there was a bubble to keep harm at bay

Would I save them from themselves?

Or let them find their own way?

Longevity

She

At 103

Is feisty and forgetful

Sweet and in good health

Not ready to go

Gently into that good night.

And I

Find myself wondering

About fate.

Why

A boy of 16

A child of 9

A young mother of 38

Pass from our lives

But she

She lives forever.

If I asked

She might loan those

Extra years.

Average them out

Twenty for you

So you could go to college

Get married and have babies, too.

Ten for you

So you could grow up

And play soccer.

Rocking in her chair

She wouldn’t miss them

Sometimes she knows

What day it is

Sometimes not.

I am certain

She would be

Happy to share.

College Girl

Chloe doesn’t live here

Anymore.

And when she comes to visit,

It will be strange.

The dogs stopped sniffing

Outside her bedroom door

I keep it closed and clean

No towels on the floor

At first I missed her

Morning smile

The sleepy hair still wet from

Last night’s shower.

Holding a small dog

To her shoulder

She looked a child

No older.

But then I saw the smile

on her face again

A photo sent by text

But still.

A picture tells a thousand words, they say

Content. Comfortable. In college.

Her new home.

Hurricanes Nights

Masking tape across the windows

And lining the jalousie doors

Towels rolled up in a tight roll

And slipped along terrazzo floors

Sitting together by candlelight

Dealing a Crazy Eights game

Or holding a flashlight on Scrabble letters

So they don’t burn up with the flame.

Winds whistling through the trees

Crooning a sleepy time tune

No daytime hurricanes in my recall

Squalls hiding a Miami moon.

A Wifely Haiku

What’s for dinner, dear?

Every night and day, there’s food.

My job?  I think not.

Another Mother's Sorrow

Someone else’s sorrow

Weighs heavy on my heart

Another mother’s tragedy

Is my cautionary tale

We are all mothers together

Who cry for another mom’s child

& pray for those lost children

Whose families still wait to exhale

God bless the mothers whose children

Still have another chance

A close call averted

A lesson learned in time

But a breath and then another

For the grieving mother

A grief we can’t imagine

Until we step across that line

Then missing socks and slamming doors

Will fade to what took place before

So I refuse to let them play

A starring role in my today.

Ode to a Grocery Store

To me, they sell memories.

Of a first high school job

And college job, too.

Responsibility and first paychecks

And bosses who played second dad.

Of the car that burned up

In the parking lot

For real.

“Would the customer with a gray Ford Mustang

Please return to the customer service counter--

Your car is on fire.”

Of those silly shopping carts

Shaped like cars

That the children loved

But were so hard to steer

That we took the turns

At wide angles

Of the years I made deals

With two guerrillas

Jonesing for candy at checkout

Just five more minutes

And we’re through

One more aisle to go

Of today’s half empty cart

With no Gatorade

or pasta needed

In record time

And for half the bill

Maybe the cart’s half full?

First Days

Thrilled children with chubby cheeks
Leftover from babyhood

Wearing cartoon character backpacks
So big they can’t stand straight

And clutching lunches that melancholy mothers made for them

The night before---

First days of kindergarten

Adolescents, thumbs jammed in their pockets
Squirming in belts and collared shirts

Rolling their eyes and checking their text messages
Way too cool to pose for a picture, mom

But we’ll do it for you

If you leave us alone—

Middle school madness

And a high school girl

Who wrestled cancer all spring and summer

Returning to school in triumph
No photograph needed
Imagine it with your heart

Her grin blinding friends to her bald head

Delighted for a first day back at school.

Daughter Mine

I don’t miss her.

I don’t miss her calling (shrieking, really) from five rooms away.

“Mom, can you come pin my dress-

Find my sweater

Clean up dog poop

Answer this question?”

(You chose the demand.)

I don’t miss this at all.

But, it’s so quiet here

I can hear myself breathe

And the tap, tap, tap

On the keyboard

Writing about the daughter I’m not missing.

I listen for the ping of the text

Or the ring of the phone

I know she will call eventually.

When she needs money

Or something else important.

She won’t be able to yell from five rooms over though

And I won’t hear her from 625 miles away

This is a blessing, I know.

My husband thinks we should

Tie her funds to her ability to communicate

With us.

One dollar a picture.

A quarter a word.

I know that won’t be necessary

She’ll call because she loves us.

Tomorrow.

Tale of Ten Athletes in Munich - A Villanelle

Written October 1976


Long live Israel, he cried in pain
No longer a man, just a Jew
While the world looked on in pain

They shot him once and then again
With a hate that would never be through
Long live Israel, he cried in vain.

Like cattle they herded the "chosen" men
The elite of Israeli youth
While the world looked on in vain

And in the midst of Olympic games
Time passed and the tension grew
Long live Israel, he cried in pain

German guilt grew deeper then
In a land where their fathers killed, too
While the world looked on in vain

The killers would strike again and again
From murder in Munich to bombs in Beirut
Long live Israel, he cried in pain
While the world looked on in vain

Momness

By Sue-Ellen Sanders

Warning, warning, out of control

Control-freak mom who has no soul

Seeking the answers to queries in spades

Any way, shape or form, there’s info I crave…

Is she safe?

And is she content?

How are her days

And her evenings spent?

She should send me a photo

Or send me a word

Forward the punch line

To a joke she’s heard

Are the boys behaving?

Are the soccer practices tough?

Is it rainy or sunny?

I can’t know enough!

She’s away at college

So far away that I freak

A busy girl is a happy girl

It’s just been one week.