POETRY CORNER

From the children’s section of my poetry corner

 

CRICKETS

 

 

There’s a cricket in the hall!

Do you hear the sound?

Is he here?  Is he there?

Is he hopping around?

 

Which door should I open to get him out on the porch?

The front door, the back door?

The hall door of course.

 

There’s a cricket in the yard.

Listen how he begs

His friends to come over

With staccato cricket legs.

 

Now I’m going inside to sleep in my bed,

But I still hear the cricket; is he inside my head?

Somebody help!  I hear Mama call.

Doesn’t anybody hear?

There’s a cricket in the hall!

 

 

BEFORE TOMORROW

 

My first grandchild was three.

 

 

Before tomorrow all the dishes will be done,

The clothes put away,

And the counter tops cleared.

 

Before tomorrow the beds will be made,

The floor will be vacuumed,

And all the toys put in their places.

 

The doll weighs ten pounds soaking wet.

Her blue dress flops around her.

 

A few yarns of hair stick out the top of her head that once were tied with a bow.

 

I pick her up by one foot and drop her onto the porch.

Her head lands with a thud that causes me to wince.

Her eyes are fixed and blue and stare up at me.

I look down into them and see your child/play.

Her face is muddy and her lips form a permanent kiss …

Probably placed there by you.

I pick her up and squeeze water from her cloth body.

My fingerprints remain and I call her hopeless.

I put her in a plastic bag with the other garbage and bury her in a can coffin.

 

I go about my day’s work.

I take my shower, brush my teeth,

So I’ll be ready … before tomorrow.

 

I put on music to sanctify the day and hear:

“The Lord is in his holy temple.”

On his altar I see a soggy worn doll with a hug still shaped around her.

 

One day you looked at me with those little-girl eyes and said:

“I want to grow up and be like you.”

 

Oh no, don’t do that, my little child-mom.

Don’t pour your heart into words that no one understands.

 

IN the pouring rain I make my way out back.

I reach down past the egg shells, the left-over pizza, the empty carton and the dirty diapers.

I find her hand and pull her out through the muck of yesterday.

 

With pre-wash sprayed all over her, I toss her in the machine.

She comes out clean, then dried except for the water … that’s still inside her head.

 

I position her carefully on the counter top and know

The water will have dripped out … before tomorrow.

 

Like notions in a little girl’s mind.