floating in through the open window—
it’s the same melody
that used to drift from the mobile
that spun above Samantha’s crib…
Michael hears it, too.
He reaches for my hand.
And when he laces our fingers together
the lump in my throat
threatens to cut off
my breath.
EVERYONE’S UNPACKING
Michael whistles while he works
with a couple of the other dads,
putting together the aluminum shelving
for the bathroom.
I carefully fold Samantha’s
bouquet of new winter sweaters,
tucking them, one by one,
into the drawers beneath her bed.
She doesn’t need me to do this for her,
but seems to understand
that if she doesn’t keep me busy
I’ll crumble.
She gives my shoulder
a gentle pat,
complimenting me
on my awesome sweater-arranging skills.
And I realize
that, for the first time,
she’s mothering
me.
MAKING UP HER BED
As Sam and I
smooth the new sheets,
shimmy the pillows
into their cases,
and fluff
the clouds of comforter,
I try
not to think about
what might happen
someday
amidst the silken folds
of these virgin linens.
AN OLD FRIEND
The constant battle
I’ve been waging
against a full-on
weep-a-thon
is nearly
lost
when Samantha lifts Monkey
out of her suitcase
and, unaware
that I’m watching,
clasps him
to her chest.
THE UNPACKING IS DONE
The girls
have begun the ballet
of getting to know each other:
“You’re kidding! I love the Beach Boys, too!”
“Omigod! Me, too!” “Me, three!”
Squeals all around.
Michael whispers in my ear,
then slips out
to buy some roses.
Now that there’s nothing left for me to do,
I feel more in the way
than an in-law on a honeymoon.
I sink
into the frayed cushions
of the weary couch,
afraid
of saying something
that might mortify my child.
Maybe the other parents
are feeling the same way,
because all of them are as quiet as dust.
We sneak awkward glances at each other,
and when our eyes meet, we smile—
like celebrants at a wake.
AFTER WE KISS SAMANTHA GOODNIGHT
Michael and I watch her
skip off down the sidewalk
with her new roommates,
the four of them already a unit,
their bursts of laughter floating back to us
as they disappear around a corner,
happier
than a litter
of leashless pups.
Then, the two of us
head out into the night,
hand in silent hand,
to find
the nearest
liquor store.
IS IT A BAD SIGN?
Is it a bad sign
if even when you
and your husband
choke down
every last searing drop
of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s,
you still
can’t quite manage
to get drunk
enough?
IN THE MORNING
There’s not
much time left
before Michael and I
have to head to the airport.
Just long enough
for me to snap a few pictures—
the “before” photos,
we call them.
I bring the Nikon up to my eye
and line up the shot.
Samantha snuggles into her father,
leaning her head on his shoulder.
He circles her
with his arms,
resting his cheek
against the top of her head.
Have there ever been
two more wistful smiles,
two people so happy…
and so sad?
Michael,
who never cries,
squeezes his eyes
closed.
WHEN I HUG MY DAUGHTER GOOD-BYE
A part of me
is almost hoping
she’ll refuse to let go of me,
like she did
when she was five years old
on the first day of day camp…
On that sucker-punch morning in June,
Samantha locked herself onto me
like a human handcuff
and began to sob, chanting a single phrase:
“How can you leave me with these people?
How can you leave me with these people?”
She was so distraught
that her question began to make
an odd sort of sense to me.
How could I leave her with these people?
How could I trust these strangers
with my baby’s safety…?
Now, as I clasp Samantha to my chest,
it takes all my strength
not to lock myself onto her.
How
can I leave her
with these people?
I WILL MISS HER
I will miss her more
than fireflies miss summer,
more than the drum
misses the drummer,
more than the wave
misses the shore,
more than the songs
miss the troubadour.
She’s been my hip hip
and my hooray.
I will miss her
more than a poem can say.
THE CAPTAIN HAS TURNED ON THE SEAT BELT SIGN
For seventeen years
there have been three of us—
enough to fill a whole row.
Now,
there’s an empty seat
between my husband and me.
A Grand Canyon
between my husband
and me.
For the rest of our lives
it’ll just be
the two of us.
Just we two.
Just
us.
THE TAXI DROPS US OFF IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSE
Michael and I
trudge up the front walk,
lugging our suitcases
and our dread behind us.
The darkened windows of our house
watch us with gloomy eyes.
Even the roses
look glum.
I turn the key in the lock
and shove open the door,
bracing
for the ringing silence.
But instead—
I hear Alice’s voice
wafting in from the speaker
on our answering machine.
“…he was so stupefyingly boring that I fell
asleep in my soup and nearly drowned!
And then he wanted to have sex with me,
can you imagine?
…Anyhow, I want to hear all about
what it’s like in that empty nest of yours.
doing it on the kitchen table right now,
so I’
ll let you go…
Call me when you’re done!”
Michael and I
would be laughing right now
if we weren’t
so unspeakably bleak.
OUR PEPPER TREE IS DEAD
Root rot
got her.
But I can’t bring myself
to ask Michael to cut her down.
She stands
outside my office window,
the breeze sighing
in her skeletal branches,
her feathery leaves
long gone.
She’s dead, but her brittle arms
still yearn toward the sun,
latticeworking the yard
with a sad spindly shade.
Michael’s been spending hours
sitting out in the yard, sketching her.
How can I ask him to chop her down
and cram her bones into plastic bags?
How can I ask him
to grind her stump?
How can I ask him
to remove every trace
of she who once held
my daughter in her lap?
SAMANTHA’S ROOM
I walk down the hall
and pass by her room,
then take a step back
and open the door.
Omigod!
What’s happened here?
Where’s all the stuff
that should be on the floor?
Gone the scattered books and papers.
Gone the heaps of dirty clothes.
Gone the mounds of soggy towels—
who would have thought I’d ever miss those?
All those years
I spent complaining,
nagging her
to clean it all…
Why do I suddenly
yearn for the chaos
that used to drive me
up the wall?
AT THE GROCERY STORE
I reach for a bag of Ruffles.
Then stop myself.
Now that Samantha’s gone,
who will eat them?
I trudge from aisle to aisle
not putting things into my cart—
no Hershey’s Syrup, no extra-crunchy Skippy,
no Honey Bunches of Oats.
I round a corner
and nearly collide with Jane.
She’s taking a break from shopping
to tickle Madison,
whose plump feet
dangle like happy bells
from the seat at the front
of her overstuffed cart.
“Oh!” I say. “Hello, you two.”
“Hi, Howwy!” Madison cries, in that adorable
I-can’t-pronounce-my-Ls way of hers.
Jane greets me with a radiant smile.
I glance down at her belly
and suddenly realize she’s pregnant.
Very pregnant.
How could I not have noticed this before…?
I look down into my own cart—
my crater, my chasm.
Nothing in it
but one lonely onion,
the only onion
that was ever able
to make me cry
before I cut into it.
SO I’M FEELING A LITTLE SAD TODAY
I spent half the morning
reading every word
of Samantha’s college newspaper online,
and the other half bouncing around
her school’s website, reading
the “Advice for Freshman Parents” pages,
and compulsively Googling
the weather back east in a bizarre attempt
to feel connected to my child.
Now it’s three o’clock in the afternoon
and I’m still wearing
my ratty old nightgown.
I haven’t brushed my teeth or showered
or combed what’s left of my hair
or eaten my breakfast or my lunch.
Or written
one single
I’m as hollow as an empty womb,
as flattened as a mammogrammed breast,
as dark as a house that’s blown every fuse.
I’ve got a mean case
of the post-daughter-um
depart-um blues.
THE PHONE RINGS
I suck in a breath.
Could it be Samantha?
My fingers itch to answer it.
But what if it’s Roxie calling
to ask me to give her back
my advance money?
Or maybe it’s my mother calling
to spew her roid rage at me
like pepper spray…
Or Dr. Hack calling
to chuckle in my ear
and tell me more bad news…
So I let Michael answer it.
And when he tells me it’s Samantha,
I dash down the hall to pick up the extension.
Then both of us listen breathlessly as she
tells us about the midnight walk by the river
that she took with her new friends.
She tells us
they sat together on the bridge
and couldn’t believe how beautiful it was—
how the full moon
winked at them
like the moon in an old cartoon.
She tells us
they all felt so jolly
that they started singing Christmas songs…
Christmas songs in September…
in the moonlight…
by the river…
Something like relief floods through me—
something like relief mixed with joy
mixed with heartache.
WE SAY GOOD-BYE TO SAMANTHA AND HANG UP
Michael leaves the room,
and a few minutes later
he strolls back in
whistling “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,”
holding a leafy little branch
over his head.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Mistletoe…?” he says.
I cross the room
and kiss him on the cheek.
Then I rest my forehead against his
and heave a sigh.
Wouldn’t you just know it?
Now that we have the house all to ourselves,
I’m too miserable
to take advantage of it.
THE MOTHERS OF DAUGHTERS WHO HAVE GONE OFF TO COLLEGE
I can’t seem to step out my front door
without running smack into
another one of them,
as though all of us
are cruising around
in bereaved bumper cars.
Wendy’s mother,
wandering through the mall,
looking oddly lost.
Laura’s mother,
lurking in the stacks
at the library,
sneaking stricken glances
at the mothers
reading to their toddlers.
Brandy,
sitting alone at Ben & Jerry’s,
staring down into her untouched banana split.
Each time I encounter another one of these
kindred crumpled spirits,
I force a smile and stop to chat,
thinking to myself,
“If her eyes don’t tear up,
then mine won’t.”
But,
of course,
hers do tear up.
And we fall into each others’ arms,
like a couple of old rag dolls
who’ve long since lost their stuffing.
MICHAEL SAYS WE NEED TO HAVE SOME FUN TOGETHER
So I’m getting ready for our “date.”
But even though I wash it,
twice,
with shampoo that’s especially formulated
&
nbsp; with essential fatty acids
derived from natural botanic oils
to replace valuable lipids
and restore the emollients necessary
for the hair to become thicker
and more supple
with a healthy lustrous shine,
and even though I remove
the excess moisture from my hair
and evenly distribute a small amount