My Breath Revised

My Breath Revised

My Breath

Pulsing a thin blue thread, my breath

contracting

expelling to waves

There is beating my heart and hers

Voices swell to an indigo sky

A sunrise hinting in the horizon

subtle pink hues

beckoning and rising

The frail thread

Blushing and gaining momentum

The sun grabbing hold

rippling light and strength

through my core

                         grow

                      I

Swallowing

My breath nurturing a white chord.

My Breath

My Breath

“You are miscarrying…”

Pulled by a long white thread, my breath exhausts

My eyes fade to steel

There is throbbing but I don’t know where

Voices muffle to tires on rocky pavement

“It’s nothing you did.”

Burning out of me, life

The frail thread

Attached to fire

Singed and gone

I want to hang up

Rippling through my chest, sanguinary blasts

I swallow and crumple forward ever

so

slowly

Damaged

She’s on the bus

the damage is done

there are worms in her hair

there are worms in her hair

her dirty dishwater blond brown scraggly hair

The boys laugh and jeer

their white teeth

sharp knives cutting the air

I giggle but really my

knees knock

I am petrified

if not her then me

there are worms in  her hair

their white teeth

sharp knives cutting the air

I am invited over to play

Her mother draped on the couch

Her long curly brown hair free falling off the sides of her pillow

She is embarrassed and we run to her room

We play Barbies in her 4 story handcrafted dream house  with electric elevator

Her father a carpenter made it for her and checks on us and brings snacks

We play chase the dog and run around the house yelling

I fall onto a cushion of a small chair and feel something buried beneath

A bag of orange pills

I quickly replace the cushion

it’s time to go home

I don’t call Melinda that day

She is the enemy and I am the bully

because I can’t stand up for what is right

and I don’t understand what is wrong

I want to be in and the only way to be in is for Melinda to be out

She stands at the bus stop

Her dad just kissed her bye

Her mom comatose on the couch

The sun is shining

She doesn’t see it coming

Her smile never fades

There is a boy with a special present for her

His white teeth

sharp knives into the air

the damage is done

there are worms in her hair

there are worms in her hair

her dirty dishwater blond brown scraggly hair

Melinda moved later that year

Teachers Write Day 1/ 1 day later

I was given an invitation to wonder : Teachers Write/ Invitation to Wonder

When I read the prompt in the morning, I thought I wouldn’t get a chance to write until the evening so I would catalog all the things I naturally wondered about during the day.  There were three.

1. On my morning run, my friend pointed out the sun.  The sun was in full circle.  A bright orange with an iridescent glow on its face.  This happened last week too.  I remember when I saw it last week. I was in the car.  I was stunned by the sun’s perfection, and while I was driving, I kept taking peeks at it as If I was capable of stealing its view and keeping it to myself.   I wondered how the sun took its form that day?  What made it glow? Why was I able to see it in its full glory?  I had started creating a story in my head somehow attaching the sun’s beauty to the mystery of the universe and other worldly intervention.  I was lost in my daydream stealing peeks and saddened when my course had turned away from the sun.  Later that day, I hopped onto Facebook where people were discussing the sun, apparently I wasn’t the only one to see its majesty.  One reader surmised that the city pollution had created this awe-inspiring reflection.  I clicked out of Facebook.  Yesterday, when my friend pointed out the sun, I saw it poised between a break in the trees and absently said “its beautiful.”  At that brief moment, I did two things: I said “its beautiful” out of obligation, and I wished I had more time to view the sun in its original perfection before Facebook ruined it for me.  I turned my head away.  What made me do this?  The answer is imbedded in the Facebook users post.  My perfect sun was now jaded by pollution. I was disgusted with the user for ruining my perfect vision and a little disgusted with myself and how easily I take advantage of the earth.  

2. I must wonder a lot while I am driving.  As my husband and I were on our way to dropping the kids off at swim lessons, I  paid attention to the ash trees that litter the sides of our streets.  I say litter because they are not pretty  They have all been infected.  An article I read last year said there was something like 1500 Ash trees in my town that have been diseased due to the Emerald Ash Borer.  The town can’t afford to cut them all down at once so over the next couple years there is a firmly laid out plan for when they are coming to take down the trees. Our turn is summer 2016.  Until then, I will have to see these trees.  If you haven’t seen one close up, the Emerald Ash Borer lays eggs in the bark or under the bark, and then when the babies come out of their eggs they start eating under the belly of the bark serpentining across the bark in intricate little patterns.  When I see the patterns, it is like nails on chalkboard or dry tissue getting wet, I can’t stand it, and I get the heebie jeebies all over.   I have counted the trees that need to be taken care of on my street alone. There are 42.  One strange thing about these trees is after they are infected the leaves of the trees fall off and never grow back.  However small patches of little branches start sprouting just below the major branch lines and become lush around their bellies.  This makes me curious. Is the tree dead?  Should we really cut these trees down when they seem to be fighting hard to live?  If we wait, really wait, would the lush branches eventually find their way up to the top?  Note:  Sometimes I view the tree from my kids eyes, and I think how fun it would be to weave my way through the serpentine maze.

3. My third wonder of the day came while I was sitting with a friend waiting for our daughters to finish drama camp.  She and I are both teachers and have been teaching for roughly 15 years.  We were immersed in teacher talk sharing stories and ideas from our perspective schools.  At some point we both mentioned the need for more, something new to excite or rock our worlds.  I wondered what could that be?

A Mother's Survival Prayer/ Spoken Word

A Mother’s Survival Prayer

Written by Meredith L. Teuber

He’s four.  

He has blonde hair that is turning brown though I don’t really want to admit that out loud and he has these brilliant blue eyes that make me want to kiss him all over.  

He’s doesn’t listen.

I can’t get him to listen no matter how much I bribe him.  Yep, I bribe him.  I know bribery is bad parenting, but I am still in survival mode.

I Pray.

I Breathe.

When he was a baby, and I felt ragged, I struggled trying to raise both my two year old and him.

I would stand at the stove cooking Macaroni and Cheese while my toddler

would be screaming for me, hands wrapped around my leg, and my newborn would be strapped to my chest.  

I breathe.

Don’t forget my phone would be ringing because my husband was on his way home from work.  He just wanted to talk, but I was feeling guilty because we were eating Kraft Mac n Cheese again.  And I would be praying.

Praying that the hot water from the mac n’ cheese wouldn’t boil over and scald either of my darling children.  

Praying my husband would understand why I am not answering the phone

Praying that my kids would forgive me for being a bad parent

Praying that my husband would forgive me for being a bad wife

And I would scald myself and put the kids down,

screaming...crying... praying

was it their tears or mine?

Please listen.

Pray.

Mommy guilt settling in because I wasn’t able to manage my work life and home life in time to give my daughter a proper meal while feeding my son to my breast.

My breast. The best thing I have done for him.  and her. and Yet today, there are some places that do not recognize a working mom’s right to feed her baby

Listen.

Pray.

I serve mac n’ cheese.

My mom despises mac n’ cheese.

She said, “Baby, that’s all they fed you in day care”

You got fat in day care

Praying that I don’t make my kids fat

I Breathe

He’s four

He has blond hair

And everywhere we go

He brings Roo Roo

Roo Roo a well loved kangaroo

whose ears rub up against my son’s ears when he needs comfort

The comfort a mother should be able to give him but sometimes can’t because well,

I’m a bad mom

I scald myself

Listen.

Pray.  

I love Roo Roo too

and when we walked into the library that fateful day

I had no idea when my son read the sign

no shooters here

a picture of a black gun with a red line through it

would startle me so.

Emmitt lost Roo Roo that day.  

I cried.  I realized when I was putting him to bed what had happened.

Roo Roo was dropped when I was providing life with more evidence of how I am a bad mom.

I stopped paying attention to Emmitt and Roo Roo as I was immersed in books. An escape.  An opportunity to read.

No mothers here

The sign should read

I dropped Emmitt off at school the next day

No shooters here he would say

I raced to the library

I cried when the librarian found Roo Roo in the lost and found.

I even kissed Roo Roo.  The librarian was happy I found him

I took Roo Roo’s first selfie

You are home.  I will never lose you again.

Did you listen?

Pray?

It wasn’t Roo Roo I lost that day.

Emmitt, I will never lose you again.

I will make mistakes

I am not perfect

I will not always be a good role model

But, I love you from the depth of everything that I have

I fed you from my breast

I lay with you when you sleep

I cover you in kisses

I want you safe

Listen,

Hold my hand when you cross the street

Don’t jump up and down in the bathtub

Don’t go near the hot stove

If a stranger talks to you, you run away, find mommy

Your body is private

No shooters here

I inhale

You exhale

Listen.

Pray.

A poem for my husband

"Oh Holy Night"

Written by Meredith Teuber

Martina Mc Bride’s Christmas album playing softly in the background

Candle light dancing against the beige wall of Jim’s apartment

Taking turns spooning homemade pasta sauce onto layers of lasagna noodles and ricotta cheese

A hip check, A slight ruffle of a tuft of thick hair along Jim’s neck

A warm hand playing softly on my shoulder

The last of the sauce lingers then dollops its way off the spoon into the pan

Together we feed the oven with our Anniversary Lasagna

We cuddle on the couch anticipating our anniversary date dinner

Enjoying each other’s company talking of the future

Dinner is almost ready

Jim hustles around the kitchen. Lasagna is bubbling.  

A plate of garlic bread fresh from the oven sits on the counter

A hint of garlic in the air

The sound of wine pouring into wine glasses

Candle light dancing against the beige wall of Jim’s apartment

Our eyes meet. The table is set.  Anticipation for our Anniversary dinner is bubbling inside me

Jim turns his head towards mine as we lay out the dinner plates on our table for two

“I’ll be back, I need to change my socks.” He darts into his bedroom.

A soft giggle rises in me.  Jim is so particular.  How cute that he wants clean socks for our nice dinner.

I run downstairs to the front hall closet where I hid my card for him.  

I take the steps to the living room quicker on the way back.

Dropping the card on the table near Jim’s plate.

He is back. I sit down.  Jim moves toward his seat but fumbles to his knees instead.

He opens his hand towards mine, “Will you marry me” his voice unsure of the answer

I am aware of a tiny movement wheeling one hand to the next.  A tiny black box opening

I don’t look at it. My breath caught in my stomach.  I am staring into Jim’s eyes.  I drop to my knees

Silent the word “Yes” screaming in my ears but fighting to get out.  I wriggle my arms around his sturdy shoulders

“yes” I whisper meekly into his ear  “yes” a bit more confidently

“Yes” my voice shaking excitement through my limbs

I embrace Jim a bit firmer

We rock from our knees mirroring each other

our bodies rising from the floor, standing, mingling, twirling, dancing as one

Martina Mc Bride’s “Oh Holy Night” lingers in the air

A poem for my father

“Where’d It Go?”

By Meredith L. Teuber

Tiny peach padded fingers

loosely holding on

to a frosted glass owl.

A knick knack for the dusty shelf.

Tiny fingers wiping away the dust

years of sitting on a wooden shelf

Dangling and dropping

the “lost thing”

from one small hand to another.

A pause

“where’d it go?”  

a glowing squeal erupts from the small girl.

the clever owl

wrapped in the tiny fingers

protrudes under the thumb and pinky.

“Hmm could it be that one?”

replies a tender man

whose love of life overflows

from  the center of his belly.

A hand worn,

rough with tiny wrinkles.

An ornament

imbedded into graying skin.

A giggle.

“ah Grandpa”

in a sing song voice

He shifts his weight on the floor

back creaking

sitting a little  smaller.

A smile escapes his eyes

gently grasping hugging tiny fingers.

The glass owl

now worn and smooth

whispering a grandfather’s lullaby.

A soft chuckle

a girlish giggle

“where’d it go?”

in a sing song voice

tiny fingers clasping

Warm hands grasping

fragile

falls

gently

A swoop of a grandfather’s hand

a palm clasped behind the back

“Where’d it go?”

A gentle grandfather’s lullaby.