Forget-Me-Not

Whoever you were to be
you cut a straight road
into the mountain of our fears.
Whoever you were to be
you left a mark on our world
but our world
was never your world
even as you sought to wear its cloak
struggled to master its atmosphere.

Pulled in on yourself,
a mouth never to sing
shell-pink, un-bitten fingernails
face of dreams.

Valiant swimmer
in a teacup of tears.

In the quiet morning
as finches feed
and mourning doves scour the ground for seed
among hollyhock shadows
it comes to me
why, like my mother
I arrive at gardening
in my middle years
with a daughter too tart and tender
to understand.
She pushes my nurturing away
with a roll of her eyes
and a flip of her hand.

Wings still wet, she escapes
with the determination of a butterfly,
colorful, not easily captured –
in search of sweet, easy nectar,
and who could blame her?

My job, nearly done
I am finding my way
keeping to myself
attending to the plants
that stay rooted and multiply

that turn their faces toward the harshest sky

and stand up straight after a summer rain.

]]> http://www.annehills.com/2013/05/my-mothers-garden/feed/ 0 http://www.annehills.com/2013/05/how-much/ http://www.annehills.com/2013/05/how-much/#comments Mon, 06 May 2013 15:58:56 +0000 Anne Hills http://www.annehills.com/?p=1558 Continue reading →]]> Your small, dark head fits into the hollow of my shoulder as perfectly as the day you were born.
Your thin arm lies across my chest
a delicate flower stem.
I am in love with so many things in this world
even the parts that are invisible.
But you, ah…

On our way home from the airport you said …
“Mommy, I’d love you even if you were a table.”
Your father laughed
but I knew exactly what you meant.

Tonight before you fell asleep,
my tiny purple violet, you said …
“I’d love you even if you were a crumb.”             And I felt my heart break open like a robin’s egg.

“I love you more than you love me…”
and I stretch my arms out
until my hands hold
the edges of infinity.

They arrived yesterday.
You were delivered home
one last time.

All your adventurous, boring
heart-thumping, tail-wagging, yard-rolling days
burned down and held fast.

Now you sit, without command
like a broken clock
that stares blankly as the sun crosses the sky.

Since you’ve left
a little cloud
has entered the emptiness
trying to take your place.

Soft but cool
this curious cumulus
follows me around

(like that terrifying birthday balloon
that caught on your foot
and chased you wherever you went)

fogs my view
lays its misty-grayness on my knee.

But you and I
we were friends for life
Measured, in years, by sevens.

Now, the little cloud and I are left
to measure hours, alone
without you.

Tamlyn and Duke

Idling near a basement window
a boy passes on the sidewalk
riding his skateboard with such flip pizzazz.

He turns and sees me in my car
my fourteen-year-old daughter next to me
and we move beyond the block
under a scowling winter sky.

I imagine him looking at me, I am hardly there
occupying the space reserved for moms or whatever.

I imagine the other side of the basement window
watching his tennis shoes zipping by, eye-level.

A forgotten Mason jar filled with cobwebs.

Last night we tucked in to crow-black clouds as winter wept a final, failed snow

Zeus aimed bright spears of fire at our trumpeting daffodils
they sounded on through thunder
heads raised toward the searing heavens
a call and response of changing seasons

As we slept
the pale plum trees of late March
unfurled their copious garlands of pink curls
winnowing through the winds
loose ribbons on dark watery air

blossoms sticking tight in the icy rain
precious and potent
as fumbling love on a night-chilled beach

I woke, searching in vain
for the singe of campfire on cool sheets
sand under fingernails

Early in the morning
as I walked the yard
fog was salving the charred spaces

rolling through spruce that color this mountainside
washing each green needle straight into spring
leaving them to dry in the ripening sun

while immigrant birds
caught up in some unending debate
traded treetops and tried to crack open the shiny bud of summer

The Dark Horse of Sleep

I fill my pockets with sugary apples
begin the walk down dim roads
that lead me to night’s pasture

stars sing questions
above grass-scented fields
fireflies blink answers

the dark horse of sleep
grazes in the distance
unmoved by this beauty

I stop, stand very still
a juicy red globe shining
in my outstretched hand

I wait, bare feet digging into the dirt
clouds pull their curtains across the sky
silence wanders near

my arm grows weary
a peach horizon douses the moon
small birds begin their song

I awake, wet with dew
rubbing dreams from my eyes
my pockets empty

I can hear her footsteps moving across the floor
she is opening the curtains of the day
up before the rest of the house
preparing
and all over the world women rise
turn from night’s embrace
sit, stand
each a bright sun rising
they move from kitchen to bath to garden
picking fruit
cutting zinnias
putting bread in the clay ovens
champion swimmers in an ocean of possibilities
they pull in the wooden dreamboats
and mend the sails
while the rest of us
secure and undercover
hear their rustling
feel them tenderly adjust the blankets
knowing we will not drown
and that the clouds will be pinned in place
when we wake

(Originally published in Room of One’s Own, Volume 24:3)

from Anne’s album Bittersweet Street

Watch this video on YouTube.

You took me sailing through the stars with you
and you knew their names by heart
Cassiopeia and the Twins were there
As we glided through the dark

Far below the water kissed the shore
But our boat was nowhere near
The Pleiades had pulled us far, far from here

The moon was waning and the night was clear
a million worlds came into view
straight through Auroras with their blades of light
I stood breathless there, with you

being lifted on an autumn wind
that a summer night had found
The Pleiades had pulled us far, far from ground

Then in the stillness of the Northern star
tides of moonlight washed ashore
words that carried us to deeper space
never visited before

Touching Hydra and the Flying Fish
Brushing stardust from our hands
The Pleiades had pulled us far, far from land

I would ask to see it all again
I would know no other way
Speak their names to me as we sail by
Holding back the blinding day

Help me remember now just how it felt
slowly drifting into light
The Pleiades will pull us far, far from sight

It has been a week since you’re gone.
No bark, wag, smile, lean
Just a whine – mine, as I wander these rooms.

I long for your lengthening shadow
beside the Weigela bush, guarding your kingdom
your gaze blessing the grass.

I had denied your whitening hairs, your hollowing hips …
as you did, with your love
bounding, puppy-like, to meet me.

Get in my way!
Wake me from my sleep!
Call me to the door!

You loved the clever escape
and the triumphant return.
(Once, sashaying down the sidewalk, a cat by your side)

Well … here I am, waiting.