Hypnosis

ear drums drumming memory
reverberating
drums drumming memory
shadows
drumming memory
echoing
memory

sleep

wake to dreams of leaves
adorning sidewalks
long walks home
the child perched beneath rainbows
your mother's eyes smiling
empty playgrounds at dusk
the first touch of fresh snow
sliding banisters
running bases
childhood
endless
peace

sleep

Trust Peace

Trust
(my velvet daughter’s smile, like a vast translucent dream,
her open hand and brilliant laugh, her wild flower embrace)
peace.

A moment arrives

A moment arrives
from nowhere
(now here)
and finds itself confronted by choice.
Not as in diverging paths, but versions of truth.

An icicle drips from the awning, and with each measured falling,
a new moment arrives
from nowhere
(now here)
again confronted by choice, or versions of truth.

A wildflower blooms, and with each new plume,
a new moment arrives
from nowhere
(now here).

The spiral continues until you confront
the moment that arrives
from nowhere
(now here)
and choose your version of truth.

Firefly Elixir

We smear drunk rose delicious dreams,
and whisper sweet urges,
like light on sand at dusk.
We beg for morsels
(to taste, save, and savor)
from the memory making machine; summer.

Lullabye

In a moon soaked rocking chair moment

you touched my face and whispered.

Your curly tendrils of golden strawberry

wound down the side of your face

like so many sunset streams

of my Southern Ohio

foot hill memory.

In that instance of breath and smile,

I felt electric and sang you to sleep.

solar desire

craving the gravity of your touch
i construct imaginary labyrinths
to find myself lost in
the endless details of the impossible you

New Rule: Same Sex Bathroom Visits

Every parent has a story like this.

We are driving home from vacation (in this case a 3 day trip to a cabin in the woods) and the kids are exhausted. It is dark. From the back seat Maya yawns and says she has to go potty. Naturally we are on the highway so I get in the right lane and start watching for an exit with a rest stop or gas station. As I veer onto the exit ramp, I look in my rearview mirror and see that Maya is fast asleep. She looks so Angelic and peaceful. And I have to wake her up.

If there is one absolute certainty in the world it is this: children ALWAYS go to the bathroom at the most inconvenient times possible. It's like they have some little internal radar that dictates a full bladder when (a) there is no bathroom in sight (b) you have just finished taking their sibling to the bathroom or (c) they have just fallen asleep on a long car ride.

Here's the problem: Maya is a pistol when she is happy and awake. When she is cranky and tired, she is a Nuclear Weapon. She is my Tomboy Princess. I love her to death. That is never in question, I would give my life for her in an instant. But, I would be lying not to admit that sometimes I think it would be a wise decision to hide under a desk in the fetal position rather than face her when she is mad. I am told that I was like this when I was a little boy. Sometimes when I relate stories about Maya to my parents they look at me with this strange smile, like they are finally cashing in on some cosmic bet from long ago.

So, the dilema. Let her sleep in peace, which she deserves, and risk cleaning up a horrible mess. Or, wake her up and take her to the bathroom, risking the wrath of a tired 3 year old Kamikaze.
I woke her up. And, as luck would dictate, it was my turn to take her to the bathroom. Generally speaking, Courtney takes on this duty - I did more with Luke when he was smaller. But, for reasons I don't recall, it was my turn.

Gently, I tap her on the shoulder. She nods in and out of sleep. I say something sweet. She tells me to leave her alone. I remove the seatbelt straps. She curls up in a ball. I pick her up and she puts her head on my shoulder. Very sweet and comfortable. I take her into the gas station and realize as we enter that this is going to be one of "those" men's rooms. I look back to the car, look at the bathroom door, and think that it can't be too bad. As I enter Maya starts to protest. I explain the situation to her. I reason with her. I reason with myself about why I am reasoning with a tired 3 yr. old that has to go to the bathroom.

I have read that there exists in nature many predators that disguise themselves so well that their prey is completely caught off guard when they attack. This is absolutely true, and one of them is apparently my spawn. Her first cry was piercing. Then, gathering her wits, she stopped crying and attempted to argue her way out of the bathroom. I asked her to take off her pants so that she could go potty. She refused, loudly. She told me that she was wearing a ballet one-piece under her jeans and T-shirt and that if I wanted her to go potty I would have to get her naked. This part she said quietly. She was not quiet when she yelled, "I won't let you get me naked!!" Nor was she quiet when she shouted as loud as she could, "Get away from me - you're not my Daddy!" Or "Don't touch me" Or "I just want my mommy. What did you do with my Mommy?"

I think it was at this point that I started to realize how this must sound to anyone on the other side of that door. Children say strange things, that's a given. I know that most parents would understand exactly what led us to this moment if they knew the whole story. I also know that if I were on the other side of that door at 10pm in a dirty gas station in the middle of no-where Ohio listening to a little girl scream what she was screaming I might be inclined to break down the door. Or call the Cops.

I was past the point of no return. She was going to use that bathroom if it was the last thing we did together. It should be noted here that I do not hit my children. In fact, I don't even spank them. My best form of punishment for Maya is taking away her baby dolls or dance slippers. I know what you are thinking: If I spanked her she wouldn't act like this in the first place. That's a nice thought, and absolutely not true. I do not know a parent that spanks who's child does not act out. I do not know a parent who doesn't spank who's child does not act out. All children act out.

Eventually, she went. She cried, protested, swore the whole time that she didn't have to go and became absolutely inconsolable, but she went. When I was putting her clothes back on and instructing her not to touch anything she stopped crying only long enough to ask what the vending machine in the bathroom was for, and did she get a treat for going potty. I tried to explain in a very calm tone that the machine was for adults only and did not have treats for little girls in it. This made her Really Mad. As I dried her hands and pushed open the door she was saying "I should have at least earned a treat for what I did".

That is when I saw the Police Officer with her hands folded over her chest staring at me on the other side of the door.

I smiled, weakly, and headed straight for the car. I figured that if she wanted to ask me questions, fine, but at least I could get to my wife and other child so she could see that I wasn't some Sicko. Safety in numbers, right? Thankfully, she did not ask me any questions, and I am quite sure that it was a coincidence that she was there at the gas station at that particular time, buying a coffee or something.

I was quiet for a few minutes in the car. Once back on the highway, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my little Angel asleep in her seat, all warm and dry. Her cheeks were rosy from crying, and she looked beautiful. As my heart swelled and ached with love for her I understood (as I have before) the word "unconditional".

Then, I made Courtney swear that we would obey a strict Same Sex Bathroom Visit Policy from now on.