Monday, February 19, 2024

100 Word Stories

 100- Da

I left the kitchen since he didn’t know who I was. The tears were coming and they would just confuse him, so I ducked into the next room. There, I began to openly cry because being forgotten by your Dad is too much to bear, even as an adult.

I was startled when he entered the room. I looked up as I tried to dry my face and adjust my expression. It was then that something passed through his eyes. Some recognition of who I was to him.

“I helped you,” he said.

“I helped you when you would cry”.



100- Bird


I drove one very cold night to get my son from work. The late day melancholy set in with a song and dark road. I rose from my thoughts by the sight of a bird heading for my windshield, her breast lit up by my car’s headlights. She veered and I could hear talons scrape my roof. 

“Little bird, what’re you doing?” I asked, surprising myself with my voice, wondering if her feet were grappling to escape or hold on to my car. Probably, it was both, right? We want to hold on and be free at the same time. 



100- Owen


There was a small hall that separated our rooms

and 13 months that separated our births. 

We always shared a small window of space. 

We fought, we laughed, we defended, we shared. 


And then one day he took the big, pink clock-on-a-rope

from my shower and became 

Flavor Flave, 

every night, 

at my bedtime. 


And the only way to get him to leave was to say

“Good night, Owen”.

Not “Good night”,

not “Get out”,

not anything else but

“Good night, Owen”.


I had to say his name.

I never understood why 

and I have never asked.



100- Defining Love


When you tell me you love me, 

I oscillate between 

believing it 

because it’s what you think love is, 

and not believing it 

because it’s not what love is. 


Can it be love if it’s not what we want, 

and is it love because it’s declared to be?

That’s my mind’s work

while my heart tries to read the truth 

from your mouth and your eyes. 


And isn’t it all forgiven in the end, anyway? 

Since that’s just what I do? 

Always the fool 

trying to demonstrate love 

to someone else who knows 

how to make it serve only them. 




100- Waiting


When I went back into the hospital to see him, I had the dreaded wait for the double doors to open after announcing myself. I always felt the most anxious to be with him when I was in the building, and that was when someone else controlled my time. 

When the delay became longer than usual that day, I knew something was different, probably wrong, and the double doors just stared back at me, blankly, reminding me that I was powerless. When someone came out to tell me that he was taken away, I knew I didn’t have a say.


Second Hand Love

 
When I was first married,
I made my husband lunches 
to take to work.
After a while 
he started to throw them out
instead of eating them.
He wanted something better.
His co-worker said,
“Don’t throw them out,
give them to me.”
So he did.

When I was near the end of my marriage,

I had been asking all the years

for some company 

in the morning.

Every now and then,

my husband would agree.

And then he stopped

because he wanted to sleep.

Our foster said,

“I’ll take the morning hours with you,

I will give up sleep.”

So he did.


My husband became angry,

and I am not exactly sure 

what all that was about.

What I do know is that

my acts of love were trash

and my company was important 

to a boy.

And maybe my then husband

could not swallow

what he had thrown away.


Monday, October 9, 2023

Gone

What is gone? 

What does it mean and how is it chosen? 

When is it chosen? 

Why?


My daughter and I processed the loss of her classmate in college who took their own life.

Devastating. 

We both held between us the love of our shared college community and the loss that it now knows.

It doesn’t have to be personal to feel it as personal because 

it sets off feelings 

and questions 

and perspectives that feel 

heavy

and winded.

“They are just gone,” she said to me.

“Yes.” 


And I was rushed back to a time when our public school lost a teacher. 

My middle child couldn’t sleep the night she found out. 

It was the idea that it couldn’t be undone. 

It cannot be taken back. 

It can be a choice and not a choice. 

And while my younger daughter, all those years ago, didn’t like the unfairness of death, 

my older daughter is now grappling with

“What if they made a mistake?”

and they have taken regret 

with them 

wherever

they are.


Though my children have lost family members whom they have loved dearly,

it is these losses

more on the fringes of their day to days

that have brought up such

deep thoughts 

and questions. 

Within the safety of the space from their heart, 

their minds can process the enormity of what it means when someone is

gone. 

And what it is when someone is

gone. 

And when it is chosen

and when it is not chosen.

But never why it is chosen. 

Never that, really.








Wednesday, November 16, 2022

Child's Pose

In my earlier years of practicing yoga,  I always thought that starting in child's pose was wrong as I thought of it as something that had to be earned. 

Earned by doing the hard work, creating the shaking limbs, the prickly heat traveling down the spine and heating up the back. 

I don't think this way anymore.

Learning to start the practice in extended child's pose, which is both a stretch and a surrender, was very important for me because it was a dawning.

Sometimes, the surrender is the hard work.

Sometimes we need to stretch ourselves to reach the place that says this is too much 

or 

I need to slow down 

or 

I need to admit some truths

or 

I need to just go low 

low

low

with only me 

and my breath 

and my forehead as firmly pressed onto the ground 

as my knees 

and my toes 

and my palms. 

Sometimes our hardest work is the restorative work. 

Sometimes what it takes for us to stop all that we are doing requires so much more strength than the 

go

go

go of our lives which just strips us of our energy. 

It might not be 10,000 steps a day 

or

it might not be a two minute plank 

or

a from scratch meal 

or 

attending every meeting 

or 

saying yes to every plan 

or 

saying yes every time you are asked if you are OK. 

What it ends up being is our humbly realizing that we need to be understanding of ourselves

and of our bodies 

and of our brains

and of our thoughts 

and of our hearts. 

We need to be understanding what a real, 

deep breath 

can do to start healing the places 

within us all 

that we allow the outside world to 

berate 

and 

consume.



Sunday, September 25, 2022

My Name


I was named by my eldest brother; my mother no longer fathomed a girl on the way after her four boys.

I was named Kate and then quickly given the formal name Kathleen to make certain it didn’t become Katherine, a name of someone who made my mother feel unwelcome.

I looked up the meaning of my name, both Kate and Kathleen, when I was working at a bookstore during graduate school. The personalities attributed to each name were different and all suited me well.

My last name, something I have always loved, I gave up for my marriage as it was one of the very few musts my husband ever had. 21 years later, and our musts no longer compatible, I have reclaimed my original surname and, my goodness, it fits.

It isn’t the same fit as before, and I have to get used to its fabric again. 

I do love it.

It is mine and I don’t have to replace it, ever.

Though it no longer matches all of my children, I already haven’t matched names with everyone in my home for a few years. And though I won’t share a name in my home as I have before, I share everything that matters the most.

I love their names. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t.

And.

I love having my name back around me, matching my brothers and my mom.

The staccato that I always relished has returned to me; two strong, single syllables. 

OneTwo.

Kate Burke

That’s me.

(photo credit, B who loves to steal my phone and captures some authentic me-ness)
 

Thursday, May 5, 2022

6th Grade Poetry Unit, AGAIN!



It is Spring and I am back in the middle school after taking a year in the little grades. And while a handful of students in each class will moan when the poetry unit comes around, I get out my handy-dandy pencil and notebook and I write write write.


Limerick


There once was a mom who was cross

Took kids’ behavior as a loss

She sighed and she pouted

She cried and she shouted

Which only made her feel more cross.


Simile Poem


My pencil is like a tongue

because it says what my brain thinks

and cuts through to the quick with

quips that can make you feel like

you took a licking.

It is vulnerable to the teeth

and it can wear itself out with

the need to repeat a message

over and over to make its point

(dull point)

clear.


So Much Depends, Inspired by WIlliam Carlos Williams


So much depends upon

someone saying, 

“Hard is okay.” 

and being there 

in the hard

as they are

in the easy.


So much depends upon

leaving a warm bed

only to

grab a cup of coffee

and climb back in

to the still warm bed

in one’s own space.


So much depends upon

the assumptions

being untrue

and reality

being everything good

because that reminds me

that my gut

is a gift.


Metaphor poem based on an age


23 was freedom

walking 

at all hours

being 

where I had to be

and 

where I wanted


New York City 

was

writing, learning, feeling,

and

desiring, knowing, living

and 

earning a masters degree


City living is

dreaming 

of my youth

no longer a likely option

because 

dreams aren’t for now


Cookie


The 

sun 

is 

the

belly 

of 

cat

soft 

and 

warm

and 

as 

put 

my

face 

nuzzled 

deep

in 

the 

fur

tip 

my 

chin 

up

taking 

every 

ray

can 

hold 

upon 

my 

cheeks.


Inspired by Clint Smith’s Something You Should Know


Something you should know

is when I was a child,

ready for happy and laughing and hugs,

I was teased for how I looked.

I was teased because I was overweight.

And even though I grew up

and I grew thinner,

I never stopped being fat in my mind.

To this day 

I can love fiercely,

make others happy,

laugh for an hour straight

and feel successful in my life.

But.

The first quiet moment of introspection,

I will call myself the names from my childhood.

I will find fault in my appearance and

discomfort in my skin and

wonder why anything else matters

when e v e r y t h i n g else matters

so 

much 

more.

But.

Imprinted in my animal brain

is the importance,

my importance,

that only exists in my physical appearance

because that was the noise 

that was carved into my thoughts.

And I may never be cured.

Because words matter.

And you should know

to choose your words.

Wisely.

Kindly.

Or maybe not at all.


Haiku

The buds will soon bloom

And with it comes a promise

That what blooms will die


Water in the woods

Dries after days of sunshine

No more Buddy baths


There is a sweet spot

That lies between warmth and bugs

I take my long walks


Daffodils are here

Announcing the loss of Da

His most loved flower


The cats dash outside

To hunt chipmunks, mice, and birds

Leaving me dead gifts


I open windows

My dog barks incessantly

I close them again