Your very fine hat (poem)

This was the extent of our back to school shopping last week:
new sneakers and the hat.
Honestly, that sums things up over here.
We just don’t have room for much else that is new.

Uncle (my oldest brother) has moved out,
after living with, and loving on us
for almost five full on years.
He’s not gone too far but he’s not that near.

We’ve been preparing for this dreaded-
exciting transition for several months.
Celebrating all that is Uncle in one hand,
and grieving all that is his leaving in the other.

But rage doesn’t RVSP to an invitation.
It just crashes the party
whenever he needs to remind the world
that he is both the pinata, and the bat.

Swinging blindfolded into the unknown
like an infant wailing for his mother,
wrapped in a blanket of confusion and fear
hush hush hushed into a stranger’s promising arms.

Eight years later, and a very quiet part of you
may still remember her soft hands caressing your very small head
and for a moment maybe you are still able to hold her hand there,
woven in the flair and the tilt of your very fine hat.

C 2012 Mama C and the Boys

His teachers weigh in (Buckets Pt II)

A few days ago I posted about a conference with Sam’s preschool teachers after an “incident” with a pail of dirt, and the words; “he seems so withdrawn recently” necessitated action.

The dirt was really not the worrisome part for me, the withdrawn was.

I am still uncomfortable with part of the discussion actually. I can feel myself explaining Sam’s loss at birth, how it does impact him during small and large transitions, and how for him all loss rings louder for him than for non adopted children. The discomfort? I am noticing how I felt as though I was describing an illness, or a lack somehow. As if something was wrong with him for having experienced these things. Continue reading “His teachers weigh in (Buckets Pt II)”