Tag Archives: motherhood

Mountains

Sometimes
you want the mountains
so badly
you have to throw
your car keys across the room
and cover your face
with both of your hands
for an entire minute
and hope you have the will
to walk over to the mantel 
and look at the photo
of your third-grade son
who would become
as unstable as ash
if you decided
you couldn’t wait
another ten years
before you walked out
on every promise
you ever made—
so you stumble through
another day
that isn’t heaven
but is nowhere close to hell—
and you commit
to another decade,
day by day –
knowing your beloved child will,
by then,
have accumulated
his own set of hearts
to start breaking—
and his own gray mountain
looking glorious
in the dark blue distance.

 

 

 
 

DeMaris
Revised 1-10-17

Photograph, Ansel Adams, the Tetons and Snake River, 1942

Now

The childless mother
wants to be alone on Mother’s Day
to stare out the window
into the world she no longer shares
with the little boy, who long ago,
brought her glistening dandelions
bursting from his little brown hand
and decorated her hair
with the yellow joy of life—
treasures collected after a storm
turned the earth to mud.
That day wasn’t Mother’s Day—
but it’s the one she remembers
on the second Sunday each May
when she’d give anything to go back
and withdraw the reprimand
for the traces of mud he left
on his way to make her smile.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
5-9-16

Candy Bar

There’s nothing wrong today
so I drove to the dollar store
for a king size candy bar
which I ate entirely by myself
in five minutes or less—
and even though I’d never do
such a thing if I were sober,
I felt like I deserved some sort
of reward for living through
a perfectly mundane afternoon
which could only be improved
by risking the life of everyone
on the road for a chocolate bar
filled with caramel, and make it
back home in time to read
a bedtime story to a kid whose
existence is the sole reason
I haven’t yet found myself
trading in my boredom for
the west coast roads that drip
into the ocean like they can’t
make up their mind if they want
to offer you a view of the edge
or tempt you to drive off of it.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
5-2-16

Speed Limit

Going the speed limit
it takes ten minutes
to get to the hospital
and in the car
with you on my lap
it felt like twenty
and the simple directions
on the side of the Epi-Pen
were written in English
which might as well
have been another language
as foreign as the doctor
who saw in my eyes
the universal fear
that transcends words
when a child is in peril
this time
after eating a peanut butter cookie
camouflaged in white chocolate
as thick as the conversation
at the Christmas party
where your father and I
were the only ones
who didn’t believe in god
and when we took you home
hours later
we put you to bed
and lay awake taking
about how grateful we were
to all those people who worked
to save your life
with all that
accumulated information
in their brains
and those inventions and machines
that took years to develop
and test
and then your father sighed deeply
before turning out the light
and said into the darkness
how amazed he was
that we got to the hospital
in under five minutes.
“Miracle,” I said
and he agreed.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
12-24-13

Mountains

Sometimes
you want the mountains
so badly
you have to throw
your car keys across the room
and cover your face
with both of your hands
for an entire minute
and hope you have the will
to walk over to the mantle
and look at the photo
of your second-grade son
who would become
as unstable as ash
if you decided
you couldn’t wait
another ten years
before you walked out
on every promise
you ever made—
so you stumble through
another day
that isn’t heaven
but is nowhere close to hell—
and you commit
to another decade,
day by day –
knowing your beloved child will,
by then,
have his own beloved—
his own set of hearts
to start breaking—
and his own gray mountain
looking glorious
in the dark blue distance.

DeMaris Gaunt
9-29-15

Another Day

You are alive
next to me
breathing
without difficulty
and I smile at you
imagining
all those times
I’ve pondered
your death
and how I’d live
without you
if I forgot your
Epipen or your
inhaler if we
went for a walk
or visited the zoo
or were stuck
in traffic twenty
minutes away
from home
or the nearest
hospital
and you ate
the wrong
granola bar
or got stung
by a honey bee
or a wasp or
mauled by lions
who escaped
their cages
or hit by a bullet
meant for a beast
or fell into the
sinkhole I am
always imagining
will open its mouth
to swallow you
whole.

DeMaris Gaunt
6-27-15

The Sex Talk

Dearest son—fifteen years is how old I was
when my mother felt too awkward
to share with me the details of our nature.
Words like desire and sex
occupied a vocabulary incompatible
with her hopes for me.
She must have thought that speaking of love
and reputation would be enough
to exempt me from the cravings that exist
long before a marriage, or the kind of union
so holy it could deliver heaven
to the sanctuary of an ordinary bedroom.
I will not tell you to wait for your perfect one—
that she is out there waiting in your future.
I want you to refuse the lie that there is only one body
created to match the contours of yours.
Reject the myth that experience will diminish
your capacity to commit when you are ready.
Let your imagination roam unrestricted in the night.
There is no one judging your fantasies—
which are the purest way to navigate this course
that leads you toward the mysteries of women.
Remember that generosity begets generosity,
and that tenderness is a key which open doors
that have been closed by anger or confusion.
Consent is the rule above all rules,
and next is careful planning.
Babies are for adults who are ready to step away
from the center of the universe and create a new one—
you, my son, are the center of mine,
and to prepare you with these truths
is my duty and my joy.
Remember that love is a privilege never deserved.
It owes us nothing, which is what we are entitled to.
Don’t expect your first love to be your last.
Do not expect the duration of your longest love
to be uninterrupted by boredom or temptation
or the wish to taste the fruit in other orchards.
This is the terrible beauty that sustains us.
Here is the truth that I wish I’d been prepared for:
The full grown heart has many rooms—
and some will conceal passions that are equal
yet opposite to the love that sleeps beside you
in your large monogamous bed.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
5-17-15