For Riley on her 25th
Always with me
remnants of her
Reminders of
life-giving days,
of nurture and
fragile forgiveness
Front and center,
my fanny pack just
below the skin:
My pooch…
The pouch where
she spent her first
nine months on earth
Not a battle scar;
rather, a souvenir of
motherhood and miracles
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Yep, she’s halfway to antique, she’s talented as hell, and she’s her own dog. Riley is showing her art now, working with her Salon (a group of students from her art institute), and making friends as well as network connections.
In other words, she is her own woman, and we couldn’t be prouder! When I heard Peggy Goetz at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wanted poems about things we carry, I could not think of a better way of celebrating Riley’s birthday.
Peace, and thanks to all for sticking with me during my recent dry spell, caused by depression. My poetic community was so supportive, this is my way of saying “all’s well.” Amy
A Brief Hello
Fruitless labor
Pitocin-dosed
forced contractions
Tears doubled
by knowing
what’s to come
The final push
The heartbreaking
silence
She holds the baby
who will never
suckle at her breast
Tiny boy, gone
before he arrived
An empty promise
Yet, she holds him
Swaddles him
Kisses him
Strokes him
Adores him
Names him
One photo
Mom and Gabriel
Her little angel
Goodbye
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Well, after the fun with Shakespeare yesterday, I fell into memories of my mom and her telling me about “the one that got away.” Times have changed since then: Even though my mother’s baby was about six months old, she never saw her second girl child. Susan at Imaginary Garden With Read Toads, where I’ve been posting daily since the first of April, asked for a Hello or Hello/Goodbye poem, so this allowed me to put my emotions into words. This will also appear at my poetic birthing center, Poets United.
Nowadays, they take a picture, they do name the baby, they have a funeral, a burial or internment. I think it’s a healthy part of the grieving process that will come no matter what, for the mother with swollen breasts and no baby to feed. I wish my mother could have met her baby girl. May all babies be born healthy – and wanted. Peace, Amy
Life Cycling
First come the three little words
Then, “I’ll love you ‘til I die”
Vows to share a lifetime as one
Down the aisle into Real Street
Change begins to take hold
She feels faint over nothing
After a march to the drug store, she
Places calls to her doctor and OB
Family planning worked, a baby is on the way
To create life within is a special calling
She doesn’t mind the stringy stretch marks
Nor the RR train to La Maze classes
in order to master the art of patience and breath
while bringing new life into the light
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I remember being pregnant with Riley. Ask women who’s ever been pregnant, and they’ll probably say they felt like the most powerful person in the world. Submerged, cradled within, this growing child… I am getting misty because my girlfriend and bandmate Karen’s daughter Amanda is in hospital just now, dilating and all that good stuff.
Riley is the best thing I ever did. Not just giving birth, but raising her, watching her tap out complicated drumbeats from the age of four; seeing her first pictures – and for years to come, finding manga characters scribbled on the margins of homework. Startlingly smart, easy to be with, and wicked talented… she’s a force to be reckoned with, and, as you can see by this photo shoot (body painting, not tattoos), she’s gorgeous. Love you, Riles. Mom
For the Sunday Whirl, the wordle can be found HERE. Check out the other poets as well! Peace and soda crackers for the first trimester (!), Amy
THE JOURNEY
Wriggled, writhed headfirst
down a one-way tunnel
Saw a pinpoint of light
Of hope
Squeezed, squished
through the door
into the light
Boogermeister suction
But finally
bundled, bawling
Soothed by mama’s waiting breast
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Trifecta wanted exactly 33 words about “new beginnings.” Can’t think of one better for my daughter, nor for myself. The journey continues – she in California, artist on fire; me in the chill of Wisconsin, warmth all in my heart.
We always called the blue suction bulb the “Boogermeister.” A family thing, like “melty and weird” and “migdo pigdo.” Ah, yes, my family keeps me sane! Peace, Amy
After a weekend of seeing our brilliant youth and their adult mentors in the church’s summer musical, then ministering on Sunday morning with the Edge Band, you’d think I’d be all tuckered out. In truth, it’s those busy weekends that sometimes set me behind the 8-ball of posting to last week’s prompts! Ye,t last night, I was up until 3 writing to a prompt from Joseph Harker (see last post, an ekphrastic poem), bitten by that late-night manic muse.
Here are two poems written for three sites. Enjoy, as I bask in cool air here in Wisconsin, an increasing rarity these days.
FOR ABC AND REAL TOADS:
Depression Hates Sunlight
Cloistered in my corner
Life passes by bay windows
Fresh air beckons
Big sis is on her horse today
Rides her farm, inspects the hives
Middle sis building a new home in the woods
I should be peeking at a wedding at the Gardens
Instead, birds taunt from the broad tree out back
now aglow in the burnt orange hues of sunset
Frozen in place, in space, I remain
tethered to an uneasy chair
Hiding from rays of healing
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday. This, written for the letter D, is about my Big D, Depression. Also for The poem’s imagery comes from Teresa of Razzamadazzle, hosting the prompt at Imaginary Garden With Read Toads. If you’d like to see the images from which this poem arises, please click HERE, as I didn’t have time to write Teresa for permission to reproduce them on my blog… believe me, they are stunning photos. If you’d like to read more of Teresa’s work, try here: Razzamadazzle.
FOR THREE WORD WEDNESDAY:
Empty Nest
A mother nurses her newborn
Emotion wells within me; my aging womb falters
I long to touch the face of my only child
even as she is grown, gone to graze in new pastures
Later, in the night sky
even stars mock me as they glimmerglow,
each seems a crystalline soul out of reach
None will glow within my empty nest.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Breastfeeding.com. I strongly support moms who nurse their babies in public. We have enough “Wardrobe Malfunctions” on TV; why are folks repulsed by what Mary did for her baby, a ritual as old as time, and always practiced tastefully, lightly covered. I also know some women aren’t lucky enough to experience this bonding, and my heart goes out to them.
For Three Word Wednesday (yeah, I’m running behind on this Monday morning!), giving us the words Emotion, Falter, and Touch. Thanks to Thom at 3WW for hosting this wonderful weekly challenge!
Peace be with you all. Amy
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!
MOON BEAMS
She called ‘round ’bout 10
Didn’t know that just then
the biggest moon ever
was blooming like never
before… so she stopped
her beater car and bopped
to the shoreline and it
shone as if butterkleig-lit
“Mom, it’s so beautiful!”
And I, the dutiful
mother, in her jammies
ran outside – Midwest clammies
sending shivers… but
how often are you put
in a position
to share this apparition
of synchronicity
nature’s creativity
with one you’ve loved so
from first glance, the glow
of her sweet newborn face
Now she’s in another place
Connected by a phone,
neither is alone
We seize this blessed time
this view, superb, sublime
We cry for happy, ‘cuz
we’re sharing The Night That Was
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse Open Mic Night, and for Riley – the artistic, fabulous young woman I am proud to call my daughter.
Photo courtesy of The Times Union of Albany, NY.
Today I give you a link to another blog. Sherry Blue Sky and I have become friends over the years; both poets, both mothers, both environmentally conscious. She is a Wild Woman who communes with wolves. I am an Old Hippie who communes with the mentally ill. We are mothers first, and she used a recent poem of mind (reprinted at her blog, with my permission) to springboard into the subject of her own family’s experience with mental disorders.
Please, please, just click the link and discover how two women who have never met face to face, who live in different countries, can communicate in the language of the mother’s heart. Peace, Amy
Labor Room Blues (in the key of AARGH!)
Would that my trap door’d been
strung with elastic
My labor would have been
oh, so easy – less drastic
If I am blessed with one
more babe, I’m sure I’ll
scream, “Cancel the Gatorade!
Let’s try epidural!”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Labor, Cancel, Elastic
Also at Poets United, prompt: Strings
And Riley, no hard feelings! But if you think you’re getting a baby sister or brother at my age, think again, ha ha.
Sharp Little Pencil 