Fine Tuned



You say you can't recall
which of my poems you like best.

First impulse--cower in the corner and cry.

Just like that
my skin seizes up
tightens to the bone
life force seeps out
creeps down
and down
through roadside gutters
over broken sticks
slick brown leaves
cracked glass and stone.
Escapes me.

This place, I know...
where I implode
give up.
Growth stunted
it hurts too much.

Blocks stacked
effort and hope
the tower I've inched up
down with one blow.
You don't even know it.
You don't.

Or, that this time it's different.

That empty shell I'd live inside
space between shadows on the wall
I'd claim as mine
desperate to hide behind...
this time
I unzip it.

Burst out like a ray of blazing light.
Stake a new claim
high up
on a mountainside.

Life has shown me
that's not how it has to be.

Feedback loop--
us the refrain
same old pain
as the record skips...

this time, I lift the needle
play a different tune
dance with risk...

See with clearer eyes,
I don't die each time an old wound is opened up--
skin soaked with blood and tears.

I get to know how it feels
stand grateful for the years
that brought me here
to this place of knowing.

These side-tracked moments
so often seeds of regret
have nourished me with choice.

All I have.
All I need.

Blood and tears have watered me.

Once a seed
to one day stand as I do now...
a deeply rooted tree.

-Jayme

Weaning my Last

This aspect of youth I can’t bear to abandon…

Never one for sentimentality,

exploring this unchartered territory’s plaguing me--

creaking beneath my feet with each step,

gripping my throat with every breath.

I think it’s forever.

What is forever?

A question I’ve never neared,

at least not more than in theory—

let alone held it to my chest,

fingers tickled,

painfully soft.

Not that I remember,

this dull ache of forever.

To be a mother in this way—

my very body nourishing you.

Me too, I guess..

left to dust.

Am I ready for forever?

Through all these years,

a treasure chest wide open,

free to bask in the golden glow of a bounty too vast to quantify.

Youthful then,

never a thought.

Thought it would be forever.

Now, I feel it

inching shut

this gut-wrenching crush.

So real,

this forever.

Cradle to grave—

it seems.

A brilliant light snuffed out.

Smoke, a snake slithering up.

This youth, surrendered.

Never again to know such closeness.

Small body curled up,

pressed against me.

Still.

Heavenly.

Transitory euphoria.

My body rendered sterile.

Never again?

-Jayme

From the Mouths of Babes

My son won't sleep at my parents' house anymore.
In a way, it pains me to say I get it.
But I do.
I get it.

He's reached a different age--
no longer innocent in the way a child is
when kissed on the mouth
first thing in the morning,
rubbing noses,
wide open--
not at all appalled by the scent of sleep;
the ill-effect it has on the breath.

There's an age when that goes unnoticed.

He's reached a different age,
says what he means,
digs a little deeper.
He's learned to read between the lines--
sees truths we've tried to keep
from him.

Like a police dog, he smells it.

It's just as well, I guess,

for him to know.

But still, it hurts.
It does.

To think the bed I slept in all my life,
the four walls it rests within,
aren't safe enough for him.

They weren't for me, either.
But, I had no place else.

So, I bit my lip,
clenched my fists,
squeezed into the fetal position.

When the screaming at night was too hard to listen to,
I did what I had to do--
always did.

For him,
there's another way--
the freedom to say no,
the awareness he has.
He knows.

When he's there alone,
my protective force field no longer over him,
the pain bleeds from the walls.
It bleeds from the walls.

He says it's the stuff on the floor
piled up,
the uncomfortable bed.
Though, I know better.

And, I'm glad for him,
that he's safe here.
With me.

Safe enough to say what he thinks--
what he means.

Safe enough to sleep,
sprawled out across his bed,
arms and hands, open wide,
each finger, outspread.
Not tight--
fighting for his very life.

I'm happy for him.

So, I guess in a way,
this poem's for him,
to know,
it's alright to speak his mind.
I won't turn a blind eye--
turn my back
to him.

He'll find me here
with love and kindness.

I get it.

-Jayme

I Am My Beloved's...

As I sit--
watch the video from our wedding day,
I'm ashamed.

No, not in the deepest
most gut-wrenching way.

But, still,
there's pain in here somewhere.

Those words you say...
I promise to give you the best of myself--
and our 8-year old looks at me in disbelief,
like it's the puzzle piece that's out of place.

"No," he says.
Shakes his head.
"No."

It's a fact I know
all too well.

He, too, apparently.

We haven't been discreet.

1,000 lifetimes in these 10 years.
8 with him.
And, we haven't been discreet.

A day or two later
in her office,
she says it...

"Empathy. That's what you need. What you're lacking."

My mind races back,
tracking all the moments I said I want the best for you,
stoically supporting you in your quest for happiness.

Was it true?

What are you to me?

Husband, yes--by law.
Is there more?

What are you to me?

'Cause if I strip away all the shoulds,
the stuff I've been told is "good"
the times we fought like cats and dogs,
then showed up at the door with a smile.
Knowing there's more.
Not really knowing we can have it.

If all there is is you and me,
not the dream world we live in--
what would I give to you then?
And you to me?
Our best?

So naive, we were,
as the bride and groom are meant to be.
So naive.

But 10 years in, 1,000 lifetimes.
Weathered and jaded to such an extent,
and we've made it.

3 children later--
and the dog.
We've made it.

W hen she says that word,
empathy
and it causes the earth to tremble beneath our feet,
deeply shaken,
we hold to one another.

In those vows,
the words of a naive groom,
was the truth.
Only, at the time,
the truth
was in the wanting to.

And, as I watch you,
hear those words escape your lips,
the pit in my gut is there to tell me,
you know what.

Wanting, 10 years in
is no longer enough.
No longer enough.

It's here we cross the threshold.

This is what marriage is.
Where it begins.

-Jayme

The Nature of Things

Night of a snow day--

If someone called to say they're stopping by,
I'd be horrified.

What would they say
if they saw this house?

Mounds of clothes,
once white with snow,
now soaked--
piled in puddles.

What would they say?

Just the thought makes me want to break free and run.
Surrender.
Concede.
Finally, it's gotten the best of me.

Instead, I take a photograph.

Through the lens--
a chrome filter,
past the mess on the railing and floor,
into the doorway of the playroom
I cleaned yesterday,
an ocean of stuff.

50 feet deep, it seems.
An ocean of stuff.

And, somehow I'm softened.

Maybe it's the filter.

It makes what's thrown me for a loop,
this noose around my neck
loosen up.

All this stuff--
the disarray,
through the lens, has composition.
Like a painter chose to paint those colors there.
Splattered every which way,
absolutely everywhere.

And I see how it can be beautiful.

Those clothes that clothed my children in the snow,
kept them safe and warm so they could play--
there with my husband.
Their father.
Fully alive.

Star flakes on their faces.
Smiling eyes glistening in the reflection of the day.

Those clothes they peeled from their fleece pajamas.
Rosy cheeks,
squeaky clean.
Eager for piping hot cocoa
and soup.
Straws and spoons.

Strewn across the floor.
Hijacking the railing.

And them--
all of them there
through the doorway,

winter,
and they're swimming in an ocean of stuff,
splashing and laughing,
there in my photograph.

'Cause in the end,
all it is
is a snapshot.

It's that image stored deep
in their memories.
One they'll call upon
many winters
from now--

many winters
and messes made.
Colorful composition.

Messes made and straightened up.
Made again.

The nature of things.

Nature--
like seasons,
best when inhaled and embraced.
Exhaled and released.

Best when seen through a lens.
A work of art.

Each one,
a masterpiece.

-Jayme

 Right Stuff

This morning my husband and I had a disagreement.  Definitely not one of our most intense disagreements, but a disagreement nontheless.  As I sit here binging on blue chips and hummus because I am feeling so uncomfortable (ok it could be fruit, but come on at least it is not doughnuts!), I am thinking about the last thing that was said last night at my conscious parenting meeting. . .my friend Jayme who is leading the course said, "The next time you are triggered, try to think about it from a fresh new perspective, like you have never seen it before in your life."

Of course, that is a total invitation for discomfort to come knocking, right?  And it did.  But here I sit, an attempt to erase memories and emotion from the past and look at the situation from fresh eyes.  Here goes. . .

We were sitting around the breakfast table before school, the whole family.  I was feeling so grateful that we get to do this often, and that we would all be heading to school as a family to an event that my son's class was having to display and present their dwelling projects that they created last week.  We had so much fun as a family learning and making this project together that I was thrilled at the opportunity to experience Brady and his other classmates talking about their proud creations. Mostly, it was wonderful to see how excited Brady was that Brian would be able to join us in this exciting event.  

We were giving Brady $5.00 for lunch and had decided to give him $10.00 to bring to a Christmas event afterschool he was attending with a friend.  Brian was explaining this to him and what I heard him say was, "You have $5.00 for lunch and $5.00 for the christmas festival."  

I didn't give him a chance to finish when I said, "You mean $10.00 for the festival."  I wanted to make sure that Brady knew the correct amount of money that would be in his backpack since I wouldn't see him later. 

Brian immediately said, seemingly annoyed (at least that's what I thought), "That's what I said."

"No," I responded.  "You said $5.00. . .", questioning myself as I always do when I meet disagreement, but sure of what I had heard.

"That's twice in the last few days!"  he responded, his voice growing, clearly upset.  It felt like a switch had flipped inside of him. Up went my protection.  My chest tightened.  My breath grew short.  I didn't want to move.  I didn't know what he meant.  He went on to explain how the other day I pointed out that he had misspoken about something that he thought he didn't.  

At this point, my son got involved.  "Mommy, he did say $10.00, you're wrong."  This boiled my blood even more. First, because my past story about how a couple is not supposed to let their children see them fight let alone be involved in them was on high alert.   The other reason that triggered me was now I had two people telling me I was wrong and I wasn't being heard. I wasn't sure of what to say or do.  But I was mad.  Really mad. I felt my temper flare.

"Why is it so impossible that you might be wrong?" I asked my husband, nervous, but angry as well.  

Now, my husband and I could not be more in love with one another.  I am so fulfilled in the relationship we have created and am so incredibly grateful for the abundance of opportunities that have come into our lives to  allow us to create the marriage we have always wanted.  That said, it is definitely not easy.  Consciousness in our relationship is a choice we make over and over again, sometimes moment by moment.  At times it can feel like so confronting and difficult.  And by no means are we perfect at it.

As Brian is working more on letting go of his need to control everything, and simultaneously, I am working on being courageous because I want to be seen and heard, a dynamic is changing in our relationship.  Often in the past I would agree with him more than I wanted to about things.  At the time I thought it was because I really didn't care about the topic.  But as I delve more into my own personal stories, I realize it is because I have such a need for human connection.  I was never willing to risk going against his need to control.  So if it meant I had to keep quiet about my own opinions and agree with him about  things like this to keep our connection going, then so be it.  

But things are different now.  I have so much faith in our relationship and what it can withstand.  I have learned so much more about who I am and give myself permission to unmask the authentic me and be more self-expressed, even if there is a potential of him or anyone else getting angry.  I find myself able to let go of what people think more than evern now.  However, in those moments when I know that it is time to be seen and heard, it is still very uncomfortable.  My biggest fear continues to loom, "What if he gets mad and I end up alone?"

So at this point in our discussion, so many emotions were coming up for me that I couldn't really see. . . was I having to be right?  No, I thought!  I know better!  I kept going.  "Why do you really need to hang on to being right that much?"  Typical coach in me, right?  A fine strategy to avoid stopping and looking at myself.  Manipulate with the new age lingo. 

"No, he said. That's not it.  I don't have to be right, Brian said.  "But Brady heard you too.  So that must mean that you heard me wrong."  In my mind, all I could think about was how inauthentic he was being.  That thought should have been a big old neon light red flag to me. .Hello???  What about YOUR inauthenticity Amy?

I looked at Brian with a look on my face like, "Come on.  You know Brady idolizes you.  And he is 8 so any opportunity to prove his mother wrong is going to be golden to him."  Thank goodness I didn't say that.  Although, as I sit here and write it, I know that it doesn't matter that I didn't say it.  Brady is intuitive and I know that he could sense the ickiness even though the words were absent.  Kids just know.  At this point, I was far from the authentic me.  Very far.

"You two are unbelieveable!"  was the last thing that I was going to say.  Nope, of course it wasn't the last thing I said.  "Listen it doesn't matter what was said.  But the point is that you are teaching your children that there has to be a "right" and a "wrong" which doesn't allow them to listen to any other perspective.  Now who was right?  It was just ickiness iced with more ickiness.

"You're right, you're right." he conceded.  At this point though it was too late.  My passive aggressive temper was driving.  

"Don't patronize me!" I boomed.  I was officially completely unconscious.  And pissed.  And all that was going to feel good at this moment was to prove him wrong.  Irony is a cruel thing sometimes. . .

"I'm not patronizing, you are right."  Brian said.  I was so foggy in my head at that point, I didn't know whether I could believe him or not.  My trust was gone in him and he had ruined my morning, damnit!

Quietly I said to Brady, "It doesn't really matter what was said, Brady, just know that you have $5.00 for pizza and $10.00 for the fair."

I tried to go on with my morning, but it was difficult.  I had such an uncomfortable feeling in my chest and felt kind of numb all over.  Brian stopped talking as did I.  There was a lot of tension in the air.  

After busying myself with getting the kids into the car, we all just sat quietly.  Brian grabbed my hand in the car, which I held, hesitantly.  He asked me if I was ok and I lied and said yes.  He said he doesn't like when there is a disconnect between us.  "How could he expect me to hold his hand?", I thought.  He is the ENEMY right now!  I can't just get past being treated like that, it is not ok that he talked to me like that! He made me look and feel so stupid! Especially in front of the kids!"  Oh my mind was wandering far. . .the stories so creative and good.  

I, of course, needed to have the last word.  "I just wish that you could possibly entertain the idea that sometimes there is just a miscommunication and it can be left at that."  

He smiled and said, "but there wasn't.  We both heard the same thing."  

"Exactly", I said, but you are still doing it.  You can't even fathom a world in which you are not right and I am not sure why you are holding on to that so tightly."  Seriously, why did I care?  It really was not my business what was going on with him.  Boy do I wish I could have seen that in the moment, but I didn't. 

He stopped.  "Could it be possible that you misheard me?"  

"Of course!  I completely think that is possible.  We will never know and that is fine with me."  I said the right words, and truly believe them.  However, my being at that point, was in the crapper.  

He thought about this for a moment.  "I see what you are saying." Something seemed to change in him.  A few minutes later when I asked him if he was ok, he said I am just trying to take a few cleansing breaths to bring consciousness to my frontal lobe."

Can you tell that he is an engineer and relies heavily on science?  Can you see why I go crazy sometimes?  Just kidding. . .

At this point, I knew something had shifted in him, but I still didn't feel better.  I didn't want to talk to anyone, I was mad that this took as much time as it did, and the whole thing seemed ridiculous.  I know that there was a part of me that I couldn't let go of being right either. . .ugh the exact thing that I was all over him for.  And on top of it, what if now I would be wrong and his anger would cause me to alone too?  How hopeless is that?

After my son's event, we drove home in much silence.  He tried to talk, but my mind was still foggy.  He asked me what I was thinking about and I lied again.  "Doing gingerbread houses with the kids," I said. How random is that?  I just didn't know what to say I was so uncomfortable.  

"How are you?"  I asked, being polite. 

"Just thinking about work stufff." he said.  I thought about how fake this conversation was and withdrew even more.  Ridiculous. 

We arrived home and he got ready to go.  I of course, busied myself with the dishes. We acted like strangers for the remainder of his time home.  Until a few minutes before he left for work.

Maggie, my 1 year old, and I were playing on the floor.  She kept climbing on me and laughing, while I was trying to get a picture of her first ponytail.  I couldn't help but laugh. . .for she has a dynamite and infectious smile.  She started giving me kisses and Brian began taking some pictures of us.  Then he held her and she began kissing him and I took some pictures of them.  For the moments before he left, she gave us the gift of forgetting our past and becoming present to our love for her and for each other.  

As I sit here and think about this situation, still quite uncomfortable, and realizing that I have some cleaning up to do later with Brian and Brady both, it really is a gift to look at things freshly.  I got wrapped up in something that could have ended abruptly if I would have recognized in the moment what stories were being conjured up from my past.  If I could have given myself a little space to say, "Oh yeah, I know that story.  It is familiar, it has happened before.  And it is not real.  Our love is real.  What we have is real. Although it seems like who is right and wrong is so important, none of this matters.  I get to choose love in this moment."  

However, I am human and I am imperfect. I have great qualities in me and I also have qualilties in me that are not so great, but I embrace and love them all.  That is who I am and how God made me.  I make mistakes.  I have compassion for myself when I mess up and can admit that I want to try to do better next time, realizing the gift in the imperfect moment.  I am grateful for an opportunity to learn how to more freely express the authentic me.  Because when the authentic me is leading, maybe I don't get to be right, but what I do get is to feel is love, connection, fulfillment and joy.  For me, the choice is clear.  

-Amy

Where Flowers Bloom

You bought lilies at the market

on a Sunday

for me.

Closed lilies.

Brought them home, pleased.

I felt the intention of your gesture

to please.

As there, by the sink,

I measured the length of their stems

against that crystal vase

from Tiffany

for our wedding.

Cut them to size,

arranged as I liked.

In spite of their sparseness,

saw their promise.

All that Sunday, I waited and waited.

When I remembered,

I’d take a breath, long and deep

in hopes of that sweet perfume

of our wedding day...

the Newport room.

All I got was the food the kids left

from lunch—

something lewd from the garbage,

nothing at best.

The days progressed.

Each held the hope...

perhaps those lilies you brought me,

to satisfy my sentimental longing

would have opened up

and shown themselves.

Blessed me with their wealth of sensory beauty.

Caressed me with the scent that ties me to you.

Too bad.

A week passed through.

A busy room

passed through

a staggering number of times.

And those stubborn lilies

in that radiant vase

just wouldn’t oblige to open up.

All I’d hoped was that they’d open up.

Hope—

was not enough.

As I made my way over

to pluck those lilies

closed tight as clams—

I glanced

out into the yard.

Yes, that yard I remark needs to be tended to—

and tend you do,

upon request.

And right there,

to my surprise,

pure white in the daylight,

beautiful lilies

open wide.

Those bulbs you planted the year before—

in fertile soil,

far richer than what they sold in the store where you bought the flowers

the Sunday before,

now breathtaking lilies.

Right there in our vase,

they fill this room,

this home,

with your love for me.

Not store bought love…

love placed so well in the ground

it grows roots…

sprouts up and blooms all on its own.

The kind of love one can’t hold

like a store bought trinket

though, somehow,

it grows old

as we do.

It’s a perennial love.

The kind to be relied upon.

It blossoms and withers,

blossoms again.

Each time,

more plentiful,

more fragrant,

more beautiful.

-Jayme

Knee Deep

I have those days, ok?

Like today.

When all I wish,

all I want

is to get away from all of it.

When all I am,

all it feels like I am

is a clown,

a circus act—

20 balls up in the air,

spinning in space,

screaming my name.

My eyes dart back and forth,

up and down

hands flap at breakneck speed.

My core, tight like an iron rod,

So tight.

And, it really feels like

if I skip a beat,

lose sight of a single ball

and it falls to my feet,

I lose…

hand over all I’ve tried to prove.

Admit that I’m not enough

to sail through.

------

It’s more than that, though…

It’s that feeling,

the need to prove that I’m enough

that sends me reeling.

It makes this room fill up

with words and stuff—

calls to make and take.

The tick tock of the clock

stuffs this room up

and up

until it feels like it will break me.

------

How do I live that way?

The ever present pain of

having to prove that I’m worthy,

and then the burden

of keeping it restrained.

It’s that lid,

so tightly shut

while I’m bubbling over.

Especially on a day like today.

------

So, once and for all,

I say, so what?

Rest my softened hands

upon my thighs,

shut my eyes and walk away.

On a day like today,

they’ll just have to take me

as I am…

‘Cause I know, nothing’s gonna break me.

-Jayme