Tag: childhood

Poem: Monument

After a loooong stretch of bitter cold here, the snow has finally melted. But February still seems like a good time to share this poem I wrote several years ago.

Child carrying large snow block toward a tower formed from snow.
Snow spire.

Monument

A monument
to winter, the jagged snow fort, walls as tall
as the eight-year-old who sculpted the blocks
lifting each into place, laboring with hard
determination, forgoing rest and
apple cider. He could be building
the pyramids. He mourns the growing warmth
of the sun. He wants his work to endure
in measure to his devotion,
kin to the Bamyan Buddhas, for ages.
He’s heavy with the tension between attachment
and impermanence. Fifteen hours, fifteen
centuries – neither is forever. But there will be
other statues, sages,
winters, snows, boys.

**

Ironing Day – Poem in Honor of My Mom

My mother passed away a little over a year ago. Today would be her birthday. I wrote this poem a few years back and am sharing it now in memory of her.

Ironing Day – Age Four

On the dining room table, stiff and wrinkled: my father’s shirt
In the chair, standing: me
Under my arms, tied tight: my mother’s apron
In my hand, upside down: a glass Coke bottle
In the mouth of the bottle, sealed securely: a cork
Punched in the cork, round and regular: holes
Through the holes, irregular as my attention: sprinkles of water

At the far end of the living room, legs criss-crossed: an ironing board
On the board, steaming: my father’s shirt
Next to the board, standing: my mother
In her hand, sizzling: an iron
On her face, trickling: beads of sweat
On the floor, receptive: a laundry basket
In the basket, folded: the product of our morning’s labor

Moving between the rooms: my industrious mother
Moving from table to board to basket: freshly cleaned clothes
Staying put in the dining room, important in my work: me
Staying put in the living room, at the far end: the hot iron