tuckova

A Quick Study

Lessons I learned in childhood
served me well though
the lesson taught
is not the one I took away.

Take for example
the forced intake of food
Poor Richard and
the starving children seated beside me
drooling over my Lima beans

This taught me
to feel guilty for not wanting;
and that sometimes it's easier to do it
than think of the reasons you'd rather not;
a certain stoicism has seen me through
and when they ask
"Are you comfortable?"
I can convincingly say "it's fine"
around a mouth of stringy asparagus
cold Brussels sprouts

Or for example
the allergy shots
the hours spent with ankles
wrapped around chair legs
waiting to see my reaction

This taught me
to sit still for hours;
and that to show a reaction
is the least desirable response;
a blank face to greet the worst news
and when they say
"I don't..." or "I can't..."
I don't even blink, and if there is an inadvertent
tendency to red eyes, puffy skin, the
inability to breathe I'm not letting on.

**

after years of carrying this
"it's not heavy, it's bulky"
the climb inevitable
and the fall apparently certain

hitchcock filmed my nightmares
and greek myths dictated my burdens
and surely opera played a part

the hardest part of parenting
is not what you expected;
it is not what you didn't expect;
it is that you get both together

the fear of edges and falling over
the overwhelming guilt for doing what i
always knew i would do

you can have help but you must
ask the right person
the precisely worded question
a verbal key in a maze of locks

after years of carrying this
surprise and expectation and
the constant fear of falling

every time you remember
"they look like big, good, strong hands"
you burst into tears. but they did
look like strong hands. they were.

metaphor with line breaks

she says
every day you promise me dinner
she says
every day you say it's about what i want
she says
every day you make steak.
i'm vegetarian.

he says
i don't mean you have to make it
i don't mean i have to make it
i don't care if we make it together
but i have to eat.

he says
she used to like to cook
i thought she liked to cook
she would say i love to watch you eat
there would be little garnishes on the plate
now there's nothing.

she says,
he never told me when he was hungry
he never told me the food was good
he never said thank you
i stopped cooking.
he can get his own food, i don't care.
i'm too tired to cook, she says, or worse:
i'm not hungry.

he stops at a subway on the way home
or mcdonald's, and it's not on the way home at all
out of the way and he hopes nobody sees his car
something quick, something to tide him over
and he comes home to responsibilities and anger
no dinner
and they sleep clutching the edges of the bed.

eventually he starts working late
ordering in or going out
and it's not just for sustenence,
like he said it would be because he needed it
but one day he realizes he's savoring the food
the textures, the colors, the smell
the way it makes him feel

she goes out with her friend
and starts talking about the meals he used to make for her
the effort he used to make,
the textures, the colors
her friend touches her hand, briefly, only
briefly, "i could cook that, i think."
and she's hungry again, for the first time
in years.

merry christmas

christmas is lovely at home. we had salmon and potatoes (czechs have carp, which is revolting, and potato salad, which i am sure i have told you about my hate affair with potato salad). Friar Tuck tried to reproduce the food categories to reflect tradition but to make food so that we would be pleased, and i am so pleased to have this. Squire Tuck was his perfect self, commenting on the beauty of black olives against pink salmon. we ate on my grandmother's china. i got a sparkly thing because Friar Tuck has figured out that i like sparkly things, which is very clever of Friar Tuck. Squire Tuck got seven books because we think he likes reading, i guess. if you fill a martini glass half full of griotte and then layer gin on top it looks like christmas and it tastes like heaven. i could fill you with details to last you to the new year. we've been listening to laurie anderson's life on a string and iva bittova's kolednice and of course nohavica. i love this song because it seems so rousing and lively and the lyrics are so sad and determined; it doesn't work quite without the music but i'll give it to you anyway. merry and happy and i hope things are half as good where you are as they are here.

Mary, Virgin Mary
She went around the world, she went alone
Just with Joseph
He was a little useless
They both wandered around the outskirts of Judea

They wandered through the night looking for a place
Where they could lay their heads
They were expecting a child
And none of the people
wanted anything to do with them
All of them said,
you will reap what you sow.

Mary, Virgin Mary
Solved this problem on her own
She found a little stable
It stank a bit
but a bucket of water washed it clean

And then she lay down
and cried a little
And Joseph was hopeless
With a face like a mule
And then near midnight
with the help of god
and thanks to courage
She brought into the world a boy as pretty as a picture

Mary, Virgin Mary,
Who was almost alone in everything

And then a comet flashed across the sky
Mary said,
Josef, let's go out into the world
There is no place for us here
They don't love us here
They will kill our son
And so the three of them left

What happened next you surely know
What you don't know, you can imagine

Mary, Virgin Mary
Who was in all things almost alone

places, activities, and ways to sleep

on the Charles Bridge
on the 28th of October
on trams sometimes
on trains usually
in cars nearly every time
(unless i am driving)
on buses, but not well.

getting a haircut
watching a movie
writing a letter
reading a book
sitting in an all-night bar
because there was no room at the inn
and no money in my pocket

i tied my feet together
so i wouldn't wake my imaginary husband.
i tied my wrists together
to take it out of my empty hands
things that are hot like blankets from the dryer
things that are cold like ice on the nightstand

last night, curling my hand around your finger,
watching the streetlight through the curtain
i thought i will never fall in love
i will never fall asleep
i will never fall