Tidal Movements and How I Continue to Fail at Parenting

I've always said, with not much authority on the subject, that good poetry is poetry that makes me stop what I'm doing and write. Good poetry is action poetry. It changes something, digs up memory, gets us to act.

That said, I'm currently reading some good poetry for the literary journal Collateral (set to launch this fall!) and the Sustainable Arts Foundation Award, both of which have attracted some dynamite writing. The good news is, I keep stopping what I'm doing to write!

The bad news is, my to-do list. It's stupid, guys. Like really long. And it ain't getting shorter. So... THANKS A LOT, POETS OF THE WORLD.

Here's a poem I wrote on Sunday (I think?), in honor of Mae, her fascination with the moon, and all the ways grown ups overthink life's questions.

Tidal Movements and How I Continue to Fail at Parenting

Mae presses her hands

against the screen door

like a beggar outside

a bakery window

fingers spread wide

like I’ve asked her not to do

twenty times this week

and says Mom look up there

I can see the moon

and some pink clouds

which one do you like better

and I say what do you mean

and she says the moon

or the clouds

which one is better

and I say we need both

then unfurl the flag of reason

there are tidal movements

to consider and irrigation

and honeybees and miles

and miles of corn

and poetry

what about poetry

and the word cumulonimbus

without the moon

the oceans would stagnate

and did you know

a simple Google search

asking what would happen

if there was no moon

yields 9,880,000 results

in .41 seconds

and that means people

who know more than us

about hurricanes and gravity

have asked this question before

and without the moon

there’d be no clouds

and without clouds

we’d have nothing

to hide the earth when we flew

from here to New York

and this is why

we need the clouds and moon

and this is why

we can’t choose

one over the other

and Mae says yes yes

as if to agree

and I am so smug

I wait a whole week

to tell her I lied

and the moon is better

I’d choose the moon

over a smelly cloud any day

and she hasn’t pushed her weight

into the sagging screen once

and she looks at me

the way children look

at adults who can’t

make up their minds

*