Because she bravely posts about the heartbreak and joy of watching her own daughter “dancing” on the edges of days that don’t seem to fit, and especially for sharing To Understand… at her blog, Lola’s Diner, this poem is a gift for Lola.

Watching My Daughter Dance
by chameleon

I like my coffee dark double
roasted with extra kick,
extra flavor, extra spice, extra larger
than life like I like
everything.

So I know how it is when
your days fit your body
like your brother’s shirt
too tight too small not right at all
snugging up against places that
just can’t take that much stimulation.

I do.

I know that stretch inside
you that needs
that needs
that NEEDS
to break through
break down
break out break free
break rules break
….anything

because your chest is so tight
that you can’t breathe inside
a day that’s shrunk too small
to hold you.

I could tell you the tricks
I learned to get through, the ways
to break the rules that no one minds
the things (like
extra cream in double dark
bitter to smooth the edges and
keep the bite from breaking through the skin)
that help

But I’d only be giving you
another set of rules to break.

Instead, I hold my breath when you dance and
I can see your skin stretching at the seams
to try to contain you. I just…
hold my breath and put breakables
in reach so that this time
at least this one more time
when the wave breaks inside
what gets broken
won’t be you.

- c. Deb Powers 2007

This poem is a gift for my friend, Thorne who posted on Only the Good Friday about grieving for her grandson on the day she would have been celebrating his birth.

Desert Singer

There’s a child
singing softly
in the desert
through the night.
There’s a child
singing softly
in the desert.

Speak softly of lost children
Whisper their names from ear to ear
Speak softly of lost children
Don’t let them disappear.

She is the Keeper of Names for the gods. My people believe that there is power in a name – the power of forever. As long as a name is remembered, the soul lives on. There is no death as long as one person remembers. The gods remember those whose names they hear.

She sings the names
of lost children
in the desert
to the wind.
She sings the names
of lost children
in the desert.

Sometimes a child is lost to us, taken by the wind, or the sky, or the water, or the spirits. Sometimes a child never breathes, never dances, never loves except in a mother’s heart and hopes. These are the children whose names she sings that the gods will remember them and keep them safe.

From the desert
to the mountains
through the canyons
to the sky,
she sings the names
of lost children
so their memories
will not die.

I think of that child in the desert today, in a world of planes and cars, of roaring trains and rushing people and wonder how hard it is to remember, to keep all the names, to sing them loud enough for the wind and the gods to hear.

No child should be lost. So I tell you:

She was my daughter. She never breathed, but in my heart she danced and sang and was loved. Her name is Sara.
Remember.

Sometimes at night, my brother walks beneath the trees with the ghost-shadow of his son. He would be five this year. They would be fishing and playing ball. His name is David.
Remember.

She might have been my sister had she grown to take a breath. Sometimes I watch my mother watch my children and see the shadow in her eyes. Her name was Catherine.
Remember her for my mother.

She was your neighbor’s daughter. He might have been your best friend’s son. She could have grown to enchant the world. He might have married your daughter. His name was Anthony. Her name was Alicia.
Remember.
Whisper their names.

Speak softly of lost children
Whisper their names from ear to ear
Speak softly of lost children
Don’t let them disappear.

- c. Deb Powers

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