a return to poetry wednesday: burdens unwieldy and those less so

T R U S T 
by Liz Waldner

If I could be walking down the road
you told me to imagine and I would and find
a diner kind of teacup sitting on its saucer
in the middle then I would feel so good
in my life that is just like mine
and I would walk right up and look into my face
eclipsing the sky in the tea in the cup
and say, "Thank you, I have enjoyed
imagining all this."

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I am in the middle of one of the busiest weeks of my life, or at least it feels that way. But I won't bore you with the details because who really cares, not even me. Except that in the middle of the day yesterday, walking from a meeting at my son's school to an appointment, my eyes welled with tears. That morning in the Parent Room the diminutive grandmother of a student in my son's class spoke briefly about her life. It was all sorrow. She spoke quietly and with a heavy accent, but I got it; I had no words but only my hands to grip her fingers. The face of her granddaughter rose in my mind—her large sad eyes next to my son's brave face on the first day of school.

When I got home I sat for twenty minutes, knitting furiously. I got up and went to fetch my daughter and attend yet another meeting. A few hours later I took Genevieve to a dentist appointment because a mysterious tooth has appeared behind her baby front teeth—one of which is already strange enough, being germinated. Genevieve's appointment and accompanying x-rays only confirmed my fears. She was referred to a pediatric oral surgeon who I was assured would be more familiar with these kinds of dental abnormalities. I came home and knit furiously, thankful for Anely who had already made the children's dinner.

Today was still busier than yesterday; I had no time for knitting. I felt tears well again, but not in sympathy for anyone but myself and the frantic mess of my apartment and schedule. But also because my baby's teeth are seriously messed up, and although it shouldn't be a big deal—she's not ill—a burst of anger and sadness accompanied me throughout the day. I recognize, all the same, the providence of that conversation with the grandmother in the Parent Room, framing the space around Genevieve's teeth as though to remind me of what is a tragedy and what isn't. Because teeth can be fixed, but there are many things that are permanently broken. There are far more unwieldy burdens to carry.

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