Underneath pink gums so tight
lies a row of pearly whites
that won’t get through without a fight.
Makes me wonder what else is hiding inside.
If a Bogotano
If a Bogotana had this many cleaning supplies, she’d be a professional cleaner.
And he’d be a mountaineer with this hiking stuff, or with just one carabiner.
A Bogotano with this garage would not complain that it’s too small.
He’d be a full-time carpenter with just one little stall.
With this moderate stash of polish, he’d be out there shining shoes.
And he’d only have two carboys if he was selling what he brewed.
A Bogotana would be a tailor with this nice sewing machine
and these two bikes would give a job to two Bogotano teens.
They don’t need these two mowers– they’d mow parks with a string trimmer.
and they would have an office with these desks and macs and printer.
A Bogotano would start a bookstore with the books on just this case.
But rather than go into business, we keep busy just looking for space!
Seam Ripper
There she goes again,
ripping out the seams.
Doesn’t she know
it will leave holes?
I wish I could hold it all
together for her.
She thinks she might be
better off alone.
Bits of thread
lie scattered on the ground
while the bobbin spins
around, around.
And there she goes again,
ripping out the seams.
Half a Year
My baby is six months old,
that wiggly, giggly baby of mine–
that holdable, foldable baby
who is with me almost all the time.
That rooting, scooting baby
could soon get up and go.
Gone is the snarfing, barfing baby
that I used to know.
Half a year– where’s it gone?
Or better, where has it taken us?
From Bogotá to the “big” SuFu,
by car, airplane, and public bus.
What have I done, in these six months
since the morning I gave birth?
Each day I’ve had the same mother duties,
There’s been no big change in my “net worth.”
But a year is a circle, so half a year
must be about one hundred and eighty degrees.
And that’s how much a baby can change
and how much a baby is changing me.
Sitting
If you’re a Martha, not a Mary,
think twice before you have a baby
and plan on spending lots of time
just sitting at His feet.
Make all your many preparations
but don’t forget about the patience
because, above all else
that’s the thing you’re going to need.
And they will ask, “What do you do?”
And you will ask yourself that, too.
And you must find your answer
while sitting at His feet.
Don’t Get Old
“Don’t get old!” she says to me.
(She is ninety-two.)
But I’m not sure there’s anything else
that I can do.
Knowing that I am still young
and knowing what I don’t,
sometimes I wish for long-term age
on a short-term loan.
Someday I’ll know a life’s worth; now
I make do with what I do.
If I keep doing what I’m doing,
soon I’ll be ninety too.
Do-It-Yourselfishness
It’s good if you like to do it yourself.
We like to do it ourselves, ourselves.
Home cooking, home brewing, and self home repair––
we birth our own babies, we build our own shelves.
It’s good to take pride in the work that you do,
and we learn a lot when we get involved.
But when pride leads to pride that cuts off from others
then do-it-yourselfishness is what it’s called.
Do-it-yourselfishness looks at the world
and says “I won’t pay for what I can make,”
without thinking of work that others have done
and thanking them for the ideas that we take.
In our busy lives as do-it-yourselfers
we’ve probably saved a buck or two.
We’ve learned-it-ourselves when we’ve done-it-ourselves:
do-it-yourselfishness is easy to do.
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| The amazing DIY lung-powered snot-sucker. Snot-sucker + tubing = proud parents. |