Take the long view

I've been sorting clothes again
Seems I do it every season

Boy, girl, boy, girl
Multiple piles scattered on the floor
Clothes to give away to friends
Clothes to give away to babies not yet born
Clothes to donate to strangers

Boxes marked
18-24 months
2-3 years
Pants, 6-7 years
Assorted winter coats
Sneakers, sandals, boots
Winter boots up front as the cold is coming

These clothes seem to rain into our house
I find them on the doorstep in unmarked bags
Sometimes they’re there in no bag at all
Lying on the steps waiting
To be brought in
For the children to grow

She's 17 months now but here I hold
A 5 year old girl's shirt
An unimaginable distance away
When she'll play big girl games
Brush her hair
Have those long spindly arms that children do
Tell me about her day
Have friends of her own
Wonder about the wider world

He’s four and wears a size five
But the size ten pants seem unimaginably big
He’ll be like the grade fives on the soccer field
Towering over the little ones
Kicking the ball over the goal
And whatever else ten year olds do
Which seems a mystery to me now

The piles vary in size
There will be no need to go shopping
With multiple winter coats
Already in multiple plastic bags
Labeled, sorted, stored

But in the sifting I travel
To a time still an imagination away
And I linger in the long view
That all these days and nights
Of love and caring
Of listening and learning
Will unfurl into beautiful children we have yet to know

How I failed

I didn't take the time to listen and make sure we were on the same page when I felt the clock ticking and wanted to go home to bed to my sweetheart and sent you away in a cab alone to your solitude and sadnes/I missed the signs and symptoms because I didn't know what I was doing and you were looking for help and I didn't manage it and lost the chance with you/I was too afraid of your race and you sex and refused to see you alone in a corner so waited and waited for a space in full view and the waiting was too much and you left, with no help, noone who seemed to care enough/I didn't offer you hope and saw your situation as dire and a dead end and it came across in my tone and in my "sorry"s which you didn't come to hear and didn't want to know that I was sorry when you wanted help and hope/I didn't listen to the stories that were important to you and cut you off and you felt I didn't hear you, really hear you, and you left feeling unheard and your world ignored.

Whither our girls?

Whither our girls? /They're not on the soccer field /Or by the hockey net /They're not usually found at first base /And don't seem to be found up in the trees /They're holding hands with the teacher /Walking along the playground /Gathered around the lunch table /Making meowing noices at each other /They're also in the emergency rooms /Arms sliced with pencil sharpeners /Razors, knives, box cutters /And hips and shoulders and thighs too /They're sometimes, though not often, /In legislatures /Still more rarely as CEOs and CFOs and CAOs /Unless it's a hospital around here /Some are hanging from door hooks /By bandanas /Around the neck /Eyes blackening /Some are at parties /Or in trailors /Giving blow jobs /To men twice their age /Some are lying in bed /Staring at the ceiling /Smoking a joint /Hoping to die by some miracle /Our girls, our girls /Sliced and diced /Bought and sold /Ousted and denied