Well I know I can’t be posting poetry all the time but poetry comes out of me in cycles, and when my mind shapes a poem I must write it. I know most people don’t like poetry, especially mediocre poetry, so I apologize for placing it, perhaps, where it does not belong.
Jonah had a relatively good day in school yesterday, which was very cool to read in his log book – he’d gone roller skating and loved it. He loves yoga too, and his scooter they pull him around on with a weighted-vest. My sensory-craver boy…
Then D came over and Andy and she and I brought Jonah and the clippers outside, to the outlet halfway down the driveway – and between the three of us, we buzz-cut his hair. D did the actual buzzing while Andy held Jonah and I sat on the driveway holding Jonah’s legs between Andy’s legs so he couldn’t kick or thrash. He was hopping mad, of course. It looked like a circus act, with hair flying everywhere and Jonah twisting around. Good thing the neighbors weren’t out. Afterward we had a near-bald boy who immediately ran inside to look at himself in his bedroom door mirror and run his little hand through its baby-chick-head softness. I went outside to the driveway where all boo’s hair was scattered and picked up a lock. Maybe it is silly, but I want it to hold when he is gone and I can’t be with him.
Of course he gave D and I plenty of trouble on the way to H’s house and pool. Safe hands? he’d ask D, wanting her to hold both his hands. She’d turn and hold his hands, then he’d try to pick his nose or swipe stray hairs from his face, so she’d let go, only to have him beg for safe hands again. Over and over. He kicked the back of D’s seat and head-rest, hit the windows HARD, flat-palmed, and screamed his loudest, his someone-is-murdering-me screams, laughing and giggling afterward.
What? D and I would ask each other, unable to talk above the noise. No wonder I am going for a hearing test this afternoon. Between Jonah, my concussion, and all those loud 70s/80s/90s concerts I saw (like KISS, Rush, Def Leppard, Jane’s Addiction, and every other band where I’ve sat too close to the speakers on purpose), my ears are suffering. I always did like my music loud.
Then Jonah started to beg for hot dog. Hotdogwithmustard? he asked repeatedly. Hotdogwithmustard? My plan was to stop at Stewart’s on the way to H’s, but then I called H and she said she still had some from the last time I brought some over, so she prepared one in her microwave, God bless her, so it would be ready upon King Jonah’s’ arrival.
Finally Jonah got both his naked swim and his hot dog and all was right with the world for a few moments, though the entirety of our visit was maybe 15 minutes, tops. ADHD? D and I were half-jokingly recalling the blessed days (which we used to complain about, believe it or not) when he would perseverate on just one thing at a time. Let’s ride the escalator 75 times! Let’s stare into the street sewer for a half an hour! Let’s go on the merry-go-round 8 times in a row!
Going on the assumption that most folk prefer pictures over poetry, I’ll make sure to come back later and post some. I might even upgrade my account so I can post video. I’m taking pictures and video of Jonah with ever-increasing frequency, as if I can capture and visit him whenever I want.
“The candlelight flickers
The falcon calls
A lime-green lizard scuttles down the cabin wall
And all of these spirit voices
Sing rainwater, seawater
River water, holy water
Wrap this child in mercy…”
~ Spirit Voices by Paul Simon