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.