Maddie Downie
Winona
Inspired by Patrick Kavanaugh’s Peace
And sometimes I am sorry when the mothers
pass by my window on their way to the park,
young ones on their hips or in their carts or
feet in the street hands-in-hands
that I am not the body in which you are pressed
against odds and muscle and desperate
breathing edging you into life.
You, once a pipe dream, reckoning sleepless nights
spent cradling the thighs and cheekbones and nose
that most resemble my own and my mother's own.
I dream of you sometimes as if you existed.
pass by my window on their way to the park,
young ones on their hips or in their carts or
feet in the street hands-in-hands
that I am not the body in which you are pressed
against odds and muscle and desperate
breathing edging you into life.
You, once a pipe dream, reckoning sleepless nights
spent cradling the thighs and cheekbones and nose
that most resemble my own and my mother's own.
I dream of you sometimes as if you existed.
As if the patience of the dog's ears would be a
perfect plaything for your curious fingers.
And I'd balance acorn tops on the soft spot
of your head on walks down to the bridge
that carries over the busy road
mittening your ears against the sound
of horns and sirens, reveling in the way
cars and fire trucks appear, disappear,
appear again, as if we stood on magic itself.
And I like to imagine your giggle
would echo in tree limbs at the park,
starling to starling.
perfect plaything for your curious fingers.
And I'd balance acorn tops on the soft spot
of your head on walks down to the bridge
that carries over the busy road
mittening your ears against the sound
of horns and sirens, reveling in the way
cars and fire trucks appear, disappear,
appear again, as if we stood on magic itself.
And I like to imagine your giggle
would echo in tree limbs at the park,
starling to starling.
Yes, there could have been a reverie in your firsts:
words and teeth and years and the sensation
of mid-July grass untrimmed kissing and kissing
your gullible feet. And I know you'd pull away
because the world would be too intense
for you yet.
Perhaps just as I have pulled away too
from your obligation those two lines
in blue my only fertile duty
dwindling each month red
with the shower’s warm ease.
words and teeth and years and the sensation
of mid-July grass untrimmed kissing and kissing
your gullible feet. And I know you'd pull away
because the world would be too intense
for you yet.
Perhaps just as I have pulled away too
from your obligation those two lines
in blue my only fertile duty
dwindling each month red
with the shower’s warm ease.
Pearled in the Shag
Unfettered child
bestowed into my arms
by a middle-aged woman
in a Dollar Store parking lot.
I took you home in a cardboard box
brimmed with Walmart carrots & spinach & lettuce
& gifted you a Christian name
like my parents did for me
but catch me blaming you as the straw
that broke our frail camel's back:
when he broke up with me on that Sunday
morning he dropped you in my lap on his way out
as a favor as finger-pointing as whatever symbol
there is in the way you rush at any hand
that nears the floor to touch you & the way you
cannot stand things being too close to one another
in case you ever need to escape
quickly between them
in the way you flinch at anything
like everything is about you.
But you cannot be a metaphor for myself
because I've never caught myself red-handed
devouring carpet & walls & my teeth
stopped growing long ago.
But I don't think it was a metaphor I was shopping for
when I searched rabbit in Craigslist
but something to jog around my feet in the bitter mornings
as I crouched head-in-arms on the toilet
exhuming the courage to start the day again.
I needed your claws digging into my cheekbone flesh
when I relinquished myself into bed for the third time on a Saturday.
I needed you to invite me with the crunch of your romaine
to join you in feasting on the living room floor
a sober reminder that unlike a dog you wouldn't nibble my skin
like rotisserie if I fell face first into the carpet one day
& refused to move.
bestowed into my arms
by a middle-aged woman
in a Dollar Store parking lot.
I took you home in a cardboard box
brimmed with Walmart carrots & spinach & lettuce
& gifted you a Christian name
like my parents did for me
but catch me blaming you as the straw
that broke our frail camel's back:
when he broke up with me on that Sunday
morning he dropped you in my lap on his way out
as a favor as finger-pointing as whatever symbol
there is in the way you rush at any hand
that nears the floor to touch you & the way you
cannot stand things being too close to one another
in case you ever need to escape
quickly between them
in the way you flinch at anything
like everything is about you.
But you cannot be a metaphor for myself
because I've never caught myself red-handed
devouring carpet & walls & my teeth
stopped growing long ago.
But I don't think it was a metaphor I was shopping for
when I searched rabbit in Craigslist
but something to jog around my feet in the bitter mornings
as I crouched head-in-arms on the toilet
exhuming the courage to start the day again.
I needed your claws digging into my cheekbone flesh
when I relinquished myself into bed for the third time on a Saturday.
I needed you to invite me with the crunch of your romaine
to join you in feasting on the living room floor
a sober reminder that unlike a dog you wouldn't nibble my skin
like rotisserie if I fell face first into the carpet one day
& refused to move.
In fact
you used to nap in afternoon sunbeams
pulling through the gaps in the shade
pearled in the shag at my feet
like you trusted me enough
to close your eyes
for a moment.
you used to nap in afternoon sunbeams
pulling through the gaps in the shade
pearled in the shag at my feet
like you trusted me enough
to close your eyes
for a moment.
Is she yours?
Together
we watch the momma deer and baby deer eat blackberries
and nap
in her backyard.
we watch the momma deer and baby deer eat blackberries
and nap
in her backyard.
And when I put her down to sleep
she cries
Because she likes the warmth of my arms.
she cries
Because she likes the warmth of my arms.
She is
little wooden caboose
avocado stain on white pajamas
6:25 on a Saturday morning
hemp milk in a glass bottle
& dinosaur socks
little wooden caboose
avocado stain on white pajamas
6:25 on a Saturday morning
hemp milk in a glass bottle
& dinosaur socks
I am
just the nanny.
just the nanny.
