Between Us

She was being beaten,
bludgeoned over and over
with his open hands
then with the boxes
he crashed into her face
her shoulders
her arms.

I just happened by,
walking through a Shanghai hutong
talking to vendors
playing with children
taking pictures
and then watching
while he exploded.

She cried
raising her arms
to protect her face
and then he saw me
the single laiwai
among the six witnesses.

The others signaled me
quietly
not to interfere...
I listened
but
would not
could not leave.

Finally he retreated
dismissing her
with a disgusted gesture
his ego satisfied
his anger
I suppose
exhausted.

Now the worst emerged:
she pounded her fists
into her head
crying and screaming
holding a knife
tight against her own throat.

She cut her flesh
through the old scars,
blood oozing,
the keening from her throat
somehow
separate from us both.

Finally
unable to merely watch
I forced the knife from her hand
put it in my pocket
grasped her shoulder
to somehow
share her pain,
her life.

But no,
the chasms of different civilizations
unshared language
unshared culture
prevented us
from sharing even
despair.

Wilma Josephine McClure LoFrumento

When...

your mother turns her head as animals of all types and sizes are ferreted
through the kitchen and up the stairs to sanctuary,

your mother works every day in her beauty shop to feed and clothe you instead of
living easy and watching the soaps,

your mother loves her eldest--or possibly her youngest--the most, but valiantly
tries to hide it from the rest,

your mother smiles as gallons of water, four angel fish, and seventeen snails
pour onto the kitchen floor,

your mother tells you just wait 'till your father comes home, but then doesn't
tell him anyway,

your mother supports you through all the stupid decisions you make,

your mother tries, through the difficult years, to keep the peace between you
and your father,

your mother pretends to enjoy family camping trips and all their work
of caring for six children in various stages of development,

your mother cooks meatballs for your elderly canines,

your mother manages somehow to survive the much-too-early death of her
youngest son, her courage lighting the way for you to do the same,

your mother schedules washing and ironing, as well as your Saturday night baths,
so she can gaze down upon you without frowning on Sunday morning,

your mother accepts numerous temporary companions into the family, almost
without question,

your mother joyously welcomes you, unexpected, at all hours of the night,

your mother doesn't believe the police when they bring you home in a squad car,


then
you can talk to me about mothers.

Badminton and the Bats

I used to play badminton
with my mom,
not killer badminton
as I later played
but
badminton with
high arching volleys.

We'd wait,
carry on a conversation,
talk about our day,
have a light snack
always looking up
searching the skies
while the birdie
drifted back from orbit.

Mom would laugh
sounding so full of life
that even the bats
swooping overhead
would join our game.

They'd tuck the birdie
under their tails
dart left right up down
drop it somewhere nearby
while we shrieked
and whooped
at this
three dimensional
extra terrestrial
display of hilarity.

To this day
I watch bats
with love bursting within my heart
for bringing
my mother and I closer
during the twilight
so long ago.

And when people
look at me
and mutter
(under their breath)
that other species
(of course)
don't have fun,
I can only pity them for
never volleying with
my Mom
and the badminton bats.

Dreams

I often dream
of a rickety third-world bus
when I gave my seat
to a young country woman,
joking with her
nudging her to accept
the small gift.

Then,
eclipsing everything,
I played with her smiling baby
a dirty baby
a loved baby
wrapped in a tattered blanket
grinning
under his mother's admiring gaze.

I used to dream huge dreams
to save the world.

I was so very wrong.

Debra on February 13, 2010

She was so beautiful tonight,
happy and alive
with that lipstick and rouge...
we laughed
at the rarity of it all

like children playing dress up
in a make-believe world
fun
but
not for everyday.

I was so happy to be embraced
kissed
by her
in the terminal
waiting for the plane
to separate us.

Another chapter...
no
not nearly that long;
maybe another page...
no
not even
another paragraph.

Perhaps a comma
in a complex sentence...
apart again,
but
together soon
as always.

The Owl, whom I knew for one day and now know forever

The yellowest yellow
I have ever seen,
huge round eyes
stared at me
almost unblinking
while her life ebbed away.

We found her sick and injured,
young
just half grown
unable to fly
barely able to walk.

Fearful
but unable to escape,
she allowed me
to pick her up
treat her for parasites
dribble food into her mouth

but it wasn't enough.

I saw that yellow
one last time
when she looked through me
then simply stopped
being.

She was too young
ever to have loved
to court
to mate
to provide for her young
but she knew how to die.

She left the world with grace
with elegance even...
those beautiful
all-seeing eyes
closing slowly
but not tightly

as if to declare
I am going
but
I am still here
I was always here
I will always be here.

Watch me glide.
Listen to me hoot.
Feel my eyes
seeing you
through the darkness.

(A little nonsense about) Feeding William Paul

I helped William Paul eat today
one bite for him
one bite for me.

His bite,
a combination of
strained spinach
baby oatmeal
and mashed apricots,
drooped onto his cheeks
in a slowly crawling stream

then sloshed over
his chin
his shirt
his bib
his pants
the highchair
the dog's fur
the cat's paw
the floor
and was finally carried off with cheers (it's absolutely true)
shouted by
a small army of ants.

They were, I suppose, getting used to waiting under his chair.

My bite
went neatly into my mouth
just like bites are supposed to do...
at least until
I glanced over at his grin
still covered in green, brown, and orange smush
glumping down
his chin
his shirt
his bib
his pants
the highchair
the dog's fur
the cat's paw
and the floor.

Then my laugh
burst out
along with a disgusting amount of various foods
and
the ants
cheering even more loudly (I swear)
were happy
once again.

Why I'm an Atheist

Ten years old
and dead
how can you not be angry
how can you not cry
how can you not rage
and how can you think
anything like a god
could possibly exist?

Goodbye, finally

I never said goodbye to my brother.

He never told me
he would force that goddamn
hose into the muffler
thread it through the window
stuff a towel into the opening

and go to sleep

forever.

or maybe
I wasn't listening

Remembering Once Again

I dreamed of my father last night
again.
Saw him sitting in his chair
at the dinner table
smiling
laughing

then later in life
in his bed
consumed by pain
peeing in a jar
unable to even walk
to the bathroom.

Even then
we never talked
though I was old enough
he was so sick
I never told him anything
important.

I loved him
hated him
ignored him
made fun of him
but never talked
with him.

It would be
so much easier now
if I had.

The Colors of my Life

This year
the butterflies flitter
endlessly

black
yellow
pink
orange
brown

in such abundance
that I find myself
standing absolutely still,
shocked by their
shimmering beauty.

As soon as the sunbeams
glisten on the pasture
they appear,
rising
and
falling

all day
seemingly regardless
of the wind
of the rain
of me

landing on a patch
of purple or red
uncurling their long tongues
moving on
always
moving on

as if some whimsical painter
flicked a multi-hued
magical brush
and the colors
are laughing their way
through my day.

Something Good

Maybe I did some good today,
minuscule perhaps,
but still
I caused two women
in a faraway land
to smile.

It started simply…
I lifted their suitcases
up the rickety bus steps.

They sat near me
and we talked

ages
children
grandchildren
families

universal truths
in unknown languages

I understood every word.

Mom, on January 1, 2005

My brother
dead for thirty years
I scream at him
still.

My father dead almost as long
I often smile
touching his tools
thinking of him.

My mother
dying beside me
how will I remember her?

I never knew my old brother
dead at twenty-one
or my old father
dead at fifty-six
(although I didn't think
fifty-six so young
then).

But I know my old mother,
eighty four
last birthday.
Tomorrow
how will I dream of her?

Young like my brother
my father
or old like today?

Young I hope
just
sometimes old
as a warning
of what not to become.

Chinese New Year, in China

It's not the same here
no lawn chairs scattered on a big field
Boom Boom
No roped off section for the professionals
to demonstrate their expertise
Boom
No cotton candy to melt in your mouth
No hot dogs

Everyone carries huge bags
filled with explosives
while hurrying to favorite places
between buildings
on the beach
in the courtyard
even on balconies

No bands
No melodies
Just the staccato rhythm
Boom Boom Boom
all day
all night
all day again

Deafening booms
brilliant lights
Boom
the old year exploding
into the new year
a better year
dancing lightly toward us

New Year's Eve, 2004 Midnight

My mother did not see the ball drop
this year.

She did not hear me whisper
Happy New Year.

I'm here with her,
but there's no joy.
No renewal
no wishes
no promises
no kisses.

One of us is dying
and one of us will live,
but
both of us are changing.

One life stopping
no time left for living.
One life continuing
no strength left for fighting.

Are we any different?

Were we ever.

The Tipping Point

I peel an orange beside her hospital bed.
Does she smell it?
Does it bring a thought
of sun
of life
of sadness?

Is my mother's brain
processing still?
Does she feel herself drifting,
life floating further and further away,
unable to grab it
to hold it
to keep it here awhile longer?

I feel her gasping breaths,
one terrible awful
inhalation at a time,
every single one making me wonder

Will another breath follow?
I wait.
I hope.
Please breathe.
Please stop.

The last of life for which the first was made, with apologies to Robert Browning

I used to be you...

smart

beautiful

young

crazy.

In a flash

I was old.

Don't follow.

As the flesh weakens

stay young.

As the mind hardens

stay young.

Make them grin

when you pass,

wondering how to become

just like you

when they're old

or even now,

while they're still

young.

I Don't See My Brother Much Anymore

I don't see my brother much anymore...
Not like thirty-five years ago
when I was much younger,
and he seemed much clearer.

Those days he'd barge
into my life hourly,
often even more,
whether or not
I could tolerate his arrival.

Sometimes I longed to talk,
but other times
I hated his ruining my life that way,
making me remember
things better forgotten.

He'd show up all unconcerned,
giving me that younger brother smile of his,
looking up at me
questioning me
destroying what little sanity
I had managed to knit together.

Twenty years ago
his visits grew less frequent...
I got too involved
with my own living
to spare much time for his interruptions.

Still, he'd arrive unannounced
when I'd least expect,
hammering into my life,
shattering the peace
I had somehow plastered together
since his last visit.

I don't see my brother much anymore.
But even now,
I'd return every day
of the thirty-six years
since he killed himself
just to touch his hand again.

Or maybe
just to scream at him.

Koby

One of the dogs who owns me
somehow learned that a growl
means love...
he came to me that way.

Big and powerful
growling fiercely
wagging his tail
showing his huge canines
licking my face
all at the same time.

Sometimes,
just once in a while
even less lately,
he grins
showing those long canines
and
growls that deep tiger growl
waiting to see if I still love him
or
if I believe the worst.

It's just your inner tiger
I confide in him.
So he relaxes when
I, showing no fear,
kiss him
right above those
terrifying teeth.

Though I wonder
if he knows
deep down inside
he scares me still.

Perhaps that's
the point.

Rosemary

The house just down the wooded path
erupted in flames last week,
the inferno set by the brother
the arsonist
the murderer
who visited Rosemary there
for the first time
in nearly ten years.

He knocked on the door,
I imagine,
said hello sister
how you doin',
then killed her
and her loyal dogs
with his brand new
purchased-for-the-occasion
shotgun.

I walk there everyday now
along that pristine wooded path
linking our two homes,
feeding her fish as they rise
in the pond she built,
picking the vegetables
from her raised beds,
adding flowers to the vase,
and checking her hummer feeder.

But that's not really why.

I wander
soundlessly
along that path
to feel the air
to taste the pain
to drown in the terror
of that night

all alone

as she was

as he most certainly was.