He sits in comfort, here in the crammed confines
of the sweaty summer subway
As they say in Brooklyn, “It ain’t the heat, it’s the humanity.”
The ticket is a token, but the price is man-spreading white guys
in fine shoes, slick hair, and no car
So lame, these day-trading types
Maybe if he were eight months pregnant (as I am),
he would understand the pull of gravity, that need for a relatively clean bathroom… relatively soon
But he occupies the space of two people
Until I whisper, “Give me your seat, or I swear I will
pee on your shoes so hard the tassels will shrink”
Thus, my discomfort is avenged
© 2021 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl, and damn! I used almost all the words! It feels like winning.
And thanks to my Luka for their contribution, by way of residence in my womb at that moment
Yes, it’s Mother’s Day on MY planet, too! Riley is deep into finals, doing so well in art school. If it were not for her going to full term, I might see this day as just a Sunday to miss Charlotte, my own mother, and mourn the two babies lost before Riley. Today, it’s a TWOFER!
So first up, Poets United’s Poetry Pantry wanted posts for moms. Second, Poetic Bloomings called for computer-generated lists of anagrams of our own name – and a poem written with ONLY those words that appeared on the list. Well, “Liberatore” just about blue-screened my computer, so it’s my birth name I used.
FOR POETS UNITED
Mama, Mommy, Mom
Mama,
tell me story ’bout
going to Sleepytown
and then we gonna
say prayers.
I love you, Mama.
Mommy,
can I join the Brownies?
Really?
Mommy,
can we go over my
spelling words?
Cool!
Mommy,
they want me to play
softball – maybe pitch.
Can you –
You’re gonna be an
assistant coach?
Wow, Mommy,
you are so busy
but you always have
time for me.
You rock!
Mom,
just a text for now,
I’m in the middle of finals,
but I’ll call you tomorrow.
Happy Mother’s Day,
dear mother, I love you
more than chocolate!
Now matter what name Riley called me,
I was always there for her.
And I always will be.
That’s the blessing of being a mother.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Amy’s collection, “Riley, one day old”
———————————–
FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS (anagram poem)
All in My Name
(Amy Louise Barlow)
I’m a bluesy limbo mouse
Alias, lousy bellow yowl
Bosomy ruby allure, yum
My morals: slim, wily, muley
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
BABY’S BEGINNING
And though she knew
the marriage was doomed
in her womb there was a seed
that grew steadily
until that glorious night
at the Chinese place
The Quickening
The moment a soul
enters the body and
like Elizabeth’s child,
baby leapt for joy
(so did her mom!)
Blessed with a gig in
Bermuda, piano bar
No star, but paid the bills
(and his too, as he
withdrew into his shell
back in Queens)
Every time mommy
played Duke Ellington
baby’s feet kept time
Fast songs or slow
Kicking perfect rhythm
My covert metronome
And when at last
she emerged from inside
her eyes so wide, so black,
I knew they would stay brown and
I knew we would be together
weathering any storm
Mothers who nurse know
the most beautiful sight
is the top of the baby’s eyelids
as they shut tight
working on their task
nuzzling at the breast
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image by Mahalie, used by permission of Creative Commons
For Sunday Scribblings, “In The Beginning…” Also at my poetic playpen, Poets United!
Next, updating the huge backlog of your comments. But just to assure you that I’m back “for real,” here is a poem. (PS This was updated thanks to my buddy Mike, who caught a typo in the second line. Bravo for second pairs of eyes!)
I always told Riley, “Just because you’re my only child doesn’t mean you owe me grandchildren, like some sort of karmic payback. And when it’s time to take away my car keys, you have my permission NOW, while I’m still together… same thing with putting me in assisted living or a nursing home. Only one caveat on that…”
Retirement Plan
(For my daughter, with love and zero guilt!)
When I grow too slow for races
Should I live to be quite dull
And my conversation brings a yawn
And my wheelchair you must pull
Waste no time on guilt, my dear
You have complete permission
To send me to a nursing home
I’ve only one provision:
First send me on a cruise ship
To see Alaska’s shore
I’ll slip, unnoticed, overboard
And be a mermaid once more
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Two poems – I hope both will bring a smile.
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter X, and with a nod to Gary Larson of “The Far Side.”
Instrumentation (haiku)
Welcome to Heaven
Here is your full Steinway Grand
Hell? A xylophone.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday words: Bump, Transfix, Knuckle. Odd set of words, but here’s mine!
The Thump
My pregnancy was no mere baby bump.
More like a lump, and a thumper to boot.
Alone in the evening, we
(baby plus me) would sprawl on the bed, shirt lifted up.
A sight to tranfix Mesmer himself,
the balloon-within-a-balloon,
my belly encased her home,
my womb.
I’d poke, she’d kick back.
I’d sing, she’d sway to an internal rhythm.
Her foot would push against the edge of her universe,
like a knuckle bulging inside a glove.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Two for ABC Wednesday. Two divergent subjects: Innocence and Iniquity. First, free verse; second, another “snowball poem,” with a descending number of syllables, one through ten. Don’t ask me why, but this form has me spellbound. Thanks to Joseph Harker for letting me know the name of the form!
Welcome
Welcome to the world
little wonder, who
worked her way
from my womb,
winding through the waterslide
into the waiting hands
of a woman who already knew
we two would make it work
without him.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
————————————
Witch
She’s
a witch,
there’s no doubt.
Vipers emerge
from her mouth; venom
paralyzing those who
get in her way, considered
inconvenient or bothersome.
You’d never guess, beneath her perfect
new frock lies a heart cold as charity.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at the poets’ collective, Poets United
Sunday Scribblings gave us a simple prompt: Free. Also, Writer’s Island gave us Inseparable. So this is a twofer. Amy
A Mother’s Ferocious Love
Trapped like animals in their jungle village.
Strapped one to another: Young mother, daughter and son.
Shoved into ships, below deck,
so cramped, no room to stand.
The voyage was grueling.
Thin gruel was their mainstay.
These white masters with their whips at the ready
as steadily, her people died of fever and starvation.
The sound of the whippings, the whimpering.
Her son, finally succumbed to the wasting disease.
Now, as she wondered whether this boat would ever find land,
and she herself felt gripping pain in her gut.
Up on deck for the hosing down,
she clutched her baby girl in her arms,
inched her way to the rail and, in an instant,
they were both overboard, taken by the sea.
Her son had already been given to the water
after his death, tossed over like garbage.
At least now she and her baby girl would join the boy,
inseparable forever, engulfed in the endless waters. Free.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Sunday Scribblings (glad I’m back on course after a break), we were given a one-word prompt: LIMITS. Click the Scrib link and then on the poets’ names (which are linked to their blogs) to check out other folks! Peace, Amy
HAD IT UP TO HERE
I’ve had it up to here
‘cause my daughter, who is ‘queer’
is not welcome in my sister’s home
I’ve taken all I’ll stand
from all those who would demand
that I discard my kid like a dead battery
I’m telling all the world
she is perfect, she’s my girl
If you don’t love her, please don’t waste your prayers
On Riley or her mom
because we know we are BOMB
and anyone who doesn’t get it can get stuffed
I tried to make this rhyme
to some extent, it is fine
but I couldn’t rhyme “battery” with “flattery” because that concept is entirely absent from some people’s hearts. But at least it’s truthful!
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 