.... Dawg Days

happy sixth birthday (no cavities)

2011-11-10T18:49:00.000-08:00

she has no idea
why we’re all
peering at her
while her mouth
is held open
and her legs
one arm
and her head
are held still

no cavities
in her perfect teeth

for a while she
liked nothing
now she’s hungry
and likes it all

but still one of her
grandmothers says
this is the only little girl
that doesn’t like sweets

halloween is here again
2 weeks after her birthday.
her mother wants to dress
her like a cannoli.
I say no one
will know what she is.
her mother says
we’ll explain.

lucia unweighted

2011-11-10T18:47:00.000-08:00

Today I took Lu swimming.
I had to be convinced by
my wife even though
it’s something I’ve wanted to do.

The Y has a shallow warm pool
that old people walk in and
children play in. There are wheelchairs
in the corner marked with the
floor numbers of the rehab floor
of the hospital across the street.

Lucia was confused by the water
and tried lifting her right leg to the
surface like it was a step.
Then she was unweighted.
Her right leg rose like it
was made of wood
and she let me lay her
on her back as her neck relaxed.

Who could have told me that Lucia
can put her head underwater, pause,
blow air out of her mouth and nose,
and surface wet haired and smiling?
Nobody, but I knew.

i wake to awaken her

2011-10-06T22:26:00.000-07:00

@430 am
the critical hour
between holding it
and getting up to pee
I give up and walk past Lucia’s room.
We have a screen door there
so we can see in and it
latches from the outside
so she can’t just wander.
I hear the music she plays
by touching a button on a book.
She’s laying down
and going back to sleep.
I return to bed and doze.
In her room I find her
in a bunk bed without a top bunk.
I lay beside her and say
I love you Lu.
She says
I love you daddy.
I look at my glowing watch
and try to wake myself up
but am unable.
She says I understand.
I say I hear you.
She seems a genius
because she speaks.
She is sad
old and wise
and consoles me
as I wake to awaken her

a little poem

2011-10-02T16:38:00.000-07:00

(high trees)
lucia's
barely
freckled
face
turned up
to the
dappled
light
(hi trees)

untitled

2011-10-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

To be broken hearted
you have to be aware
that you are loved.
I wish a
broken heart
for her and wonder
if ceaseless joy
with occasional frustrations
is a blessing or a curse.

She returns to the steps
of the house where we live
even when I walk past
them as a test. She stretches
when I pull the car in
under the tree in front
of our house.

It’s recognition at the
light changing under the
leaves. She didn’t do it
in the winter.
I’ve noticed it
this spring.
She must see the slant
of the steps that
sit at an angle
to the sidewalk.
She recognizes
the shape of home.

bragging

2011-10-01T22:03:00.000-07:00

1.

one side of her is
smaller than the other
our neurologist told us.
the discrepancy between
the size of her thumbs
when they’re held
against one another.
one side will grow less.
apparently your brain
makes you grow.

2.

she inched her left foot
over the top step and
then with all her weight
on her withered right half
stepped down
and then did the
same three times fast
almost falling forward
before alighting
on the sidewalk.
this is not how
the physical therapists
say to do it–they say
good girls go up
bad girls go down
meaning that the weight
bearing limb does the
hard work.
lucia is unphased
and now goes to the left
if there is a railing.
after the steps

I raised my arms
triumphantly
then walked her to the red car
which is mine and
she goes to in
the parking lot
full of other
people’s cars.

pushing it

2011-10-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

I told my wife
you have to flush
the toilet
so the dogs
have something
to drink
and chuckled.

I’d had enough
to drink

what are you
doing to jerry
he shouldn’t
have to drink pee

I couldn’t
stop pushing it

Meeting for the parents of autistic children

2011-05-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

He's a good doctor and a Christian she said.
My eyes must have widened.
I thought about saying I'm a Jew
but she said he called me with labs at night-
what doctor does that? So I let it ride.
We saw that doctor once and he seemed to think
we were doing just fine.
Gave us the option on some bloodwork
and gave us the diagnosis that we needed
to work the insurance and get services.
He had hung a picture of himself on the wall
under his diploma that showed him in the gulf
where he was a flight surgeon I guess.
Another mother said he told her
he was concerned about how
her child was doing at this size and this size.
She moved her hand up twice.
The second time it was way over her own head.
Later she mentioned her son's speed.
Someone laughed and said he hasn't slowed down?
Amanda and I nod and furrow our eyebrows
during the presentation like we're in class.
I think about the two boys in Lucia's dance class
that asked their foster mother to have their grandmother
tell me that Lucia is pretty.
She told me this at her appointment after
I told her that her knee pain occurs because she's obese.
One of the foster kids wears braces on both feet
and was graceful in his casted feet.
At the meeting tonight and at Lucia's dance class
the fathers look wounded and resentful.
I try to engage them and occasionally they smile
but then talk about hunting and pizza.
We really just want to talk about our ticklish children
and would all rather be nose to nose with our kids
rather than here and vaguely embarrassed
that we have this in common.
Husbands and wives murmur
to one another
like they have secrets
as we answer questionnaires that ask
what our children do well and
what we feel our children don' t do well.
I ask Amanda in a low voice if being happy
is something that Lucia does well.

There was a lawyer one morning
in the children's hospital icu waiting room.
She was lovely and just past poised
and I overheard her on the phone rescheduling depositions.
We struck up a conversation sitting next
to each other as people woke up around
us on couches and recliners. She said
this type of stuff doesn't happen to me.
I thought apparently it does happen
to you and to me and to our kids
but said yeah I know it isn't right.
When Lucia was discharged and we were
leaving I saw her wandering
on the zebra level of the parking garage.
I drove past and lowered the window
but she looked at me blankly and
I drove on without asking about her son.

The main line that goes to the sewer

2011-05-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

this morning there was a fountain coming from the hole in the basement.
the secretary at the sewer place laughingly told me that was the main line.
she had been quite solemn until I charmed her with my ignorance of plumbing.
two guys and their machine showed up 6 hours later and
worked some sort of coiled thing through the pipes that
run under my house to the street. one of them had a stool
to sit on and sat wide legged like he was throwing a pot.
I went back to work and tried not to worry and when my phone
rang as I was telling a fellow about life after his heart attack
I said "sorry I have to take this. this is really important."
I was as concerned this afternoon as I had
been about lucia's hospital bills.
I had a sense of relief when I was told they had pushed through
with their jet streamed water and didn't need to use the camera
that was almost worth the anxiety. this was the type of
thing I was born to worry about. I had thought maybe we'd have to
shit in the garden and for a moment could see being grateful that
lucia is still in diapers. at home that night the water in the
toilet and the sink seemed to run down the drain straighter and faster.
there are things under our feet that can be dug up and that seem as ancient
as rome and are made of clay infiltrated with roots and go
out to the street that is the city's responsibility . once in ireland
walking my cart up to the bridge to sell sunglasses and earrings
I saw two men pull a dripping basket up from a hole in the street.
it was early and the stench was foul. that was on the quay alongside
the liffey. tonight my house smelled of nothing but dogs and cats.
the plumbers left the basement cleaner than it was yesterday.

Diagnosis

2011-05-11T07:20:00.000-07:00

We told the school social worker
that Lucia likes to run
from couch to couch and from
one end of the house to the other.
She said "oh that's the autism.
a self soothing thing."
No I said nope. That's not it.
She's not like a polar bear
wearing a rut in the stone.
She runs because she likes it.
Because she likes to run.
It was no use explaining joy to her.
And who could explain something
like joy in any case?
We know Lucia is happy
doing certain things
and our routine with
her is inexplicable.
I won't break down
how we walk certain places
and how it feels
to put one foot in front of the other
alongside my daughter. Who could?
Lucia used to only
come up to the window sill.
We have no notches along doorways
but remember what
she didn't hit her head on
6 months ago and
what she hits her head on now.
When Lucia is running down
the sunny sidewalk and she pivots
to run back towards me
her right leg is the fulcrum
between her shadow and herself.

bad and unjust news

2011-04-25T21:47:00.001-07:00

better him than his children
but not better him
than their grandparents

why couldn't it be
us says the grandmother.
nobody deserves such things
but we're old.

the cataract moon is
in the sky and we dwell
here in its shadows.

a deluge of cancer and disaster

we leave for work healthy
and come home sick

Indian summer

2011-03-09T22:43:00.001-08:00

a coughing wife
sick again and
refusing medicine

windless
the leaves fall
one at a time

november's indian
summer makes
the window panes
warm

the skin of
my daughter's
forehead
is supple
thin and hard

the carpenters downstairs

2011-02-28T20:55:00.000-08:00

the creak of the baby gate
at the top of the steps swinging free
is the moan of my daughter
from the room in which
she doesn't sleep because
she's in bed with her mother.
there's the shriek of the front door
that sounds like a seizure.
there's the laughing
that is just her laughing.
the men who work at carpentry
in the basement of the cafe
come up to say hello
when they hear her
uneven footfalls over their head.
they say "it's lu"
and come up the back steps grinning.

lucia going up stairs

2011-02-28T20:52:00.000-08:00

she goes up the stairs now.
she holds the wall or the railing
with her left hand and
even when she veers right
can stop and shuffle over
to get back into position.
she kicks her right leg back
so it doesn't catch on the
lip of the step. It's a gesture
that could evolve into a dance
because it has a rhythm.
she doesn't refuse help
because she doesn't know
it's help.
I am a banister
I am a spoon
I am a mouth

We'll get a her a nametag
because if she wandered
away in the supermarket
anyone could have her

At the coffee shop she went
to a man and took his hand
hoping he would play our
tipping over backwards
and pulled into the air game.
A four year old girl came up to me
in the coffee shop right after
and said
look at my nails
I'm eating a cookie

2011-02-28T20:48:00.000-08:00

I beat my thighs with my fists
when amanda bled silently
a surprising scarlet stain
I saw first when she was
getting undressed for
a routine mid pregnancy exam.
I worked hard every night
falling asleep to be a
baby clinging to a thick uterus.

about 4 years ago
in the middle of another
of lucia's stupid fucking seizures
I said I can't take it anymore
and amanda said
what else are we going to do
what do you want me to say.
and that's how we
survived another day.

2011-01-23T07:35:00.000-08:00

once in the dark with
my virgin black-irish girlfriend
in her single bed
I said I sense larger things.
I said I feel a unique perspective.
pitiful boy.
but I must have said it well
because she was broken hearted.
she cried dryly
and I confirmed her suspicions
about americans.
she had powder blue eyes
and spoke irish because she was
a school teacher.
she was boyish and fierce
and her parents were very old.
she was from the west.
county mayo.

we should restart
knowing a few things.
how to shake hands with women.
how to braid hair.
how to tie someone else's shoe.

we should dispense with the tics
that start as superstitions.
the numbers that add up to 12.
the time she is taken from her bath.
how long the dog is allowed to fetch.

I'm thinking of that mayo girl
who said lads you need butter
so thick you can sink your
teeth into it.
she was actually wild
and i am become mild and mellow
or at least seek that out
in the face of the exceptional

2010-11-26T22:14:00.001-08:00

evolution

I think I only need
three toes to balance.

Suddenly I see her
as evolved.
The right leg moves from
the hip (the surgeon said

let me see her walk.
I think she'll walk the
same after surgery.
Her gait will be unchanged)

Sitting she cocks her left leg up
and the depression at the
bottom of the bottle
rests on her knee
leaving the left hand
to move things
as she drinks from a straw.

Maybe the right arm
will wither.
(well I guess she'll
be left handed
said the second neurologist)

The 55 year old speech therapist
has never seen anything
like this adaptation

What's next
wonder the scientists.
It won't help us survive
but it will help her to live.
It isn't genetic
just an accident

2010-11-26T22:07:00.000-08:00

two weeks before lucia's 5th birthday
we got her a fish tank thinking she would
like the flashing fish and the bubbles.
we filled it with water and gravel and then
fighting the concerned clerks one of whom admitted
a problem with fish and that he had a bedroom
with 750 gallons of water and no bed
bought a school of danios and put them in the
tank even before the water had cleared.
we were told the system needed to cycle.
we laughed and said we'd prove them all wrong.
stupid people have been known to successfully
raise fish I said to my wife. amanda went back
the next day and bought two more fish and
then I went back the day after that and bought three.
lucia bobbed her head up and down following the
bubbles and pressed her hand against the glass once.
amanda bought books and went to the library.
she started a logbook. we had three dr's
appointments . we watched the fish. amanda
got wet up to her armpit anchoring plants.
we were told there would be death and also
my friend the pediatrician who wanted to
be a marine biologist and says
he always has a tank of some sort
said the number of fish that will be
stable will be minimal--two fish maybe three.
this morning I noticed something like
talcum powder on the fins of the gouramis
and one them is sluggish tonight.
amanda has gone to bed worried.
lucia ate a french fry today.
a friend of mine saw her running and
said he'd never seen such joy
just at moving forward.

2010-11-26T22:03:00.000-08:00

i've gathered her
up after dinner as
everybody sits
at the cleared table

she spent dinner
in the rocking chair

now my daughter is on my lap
facing me flicking my lapel
saying dadada
tatata dat-th dat-th

somewhere around the
table I hear Amanda say
I think maybe
more when he’s home
and someone says
she’s talking to her daddy

there’s no one’s eyes I
want to meet but her’s
my mouth in the nape
of her neck
her mouth on my ear

we're encircled

I can make her laugh
without any stories

our little music we play
at the end of the table

trees

2010-11-07T20:45:00.001-08:00

when there are leaves
shimmering
she ignores me
preoccupied.

at the window
in the bedroom

the closest she'll get
to a tree house

i have to get in her face
to get a smile.

the winter snow
is something to look
forward to.

we'll be buried
in the neutral light.

2010-09-07T09:09:00.001-07:00

she staggers a little in
the parking lot because that's
how she walks.
no swagger. in the open spaces
it's work
unlike in our house
from couch to couch
where it's a run.
we haven't seen the
stiff-legged possession lately
like a hand pressing on her
back with extra gravity.
she walked to a car today
and stood in the sun waiting.
I see she wants to
be picked up now all the time.
not eating makes her light and
I think of adaptations:
of short feet and long wings
and eyelashes and
the baring of teeth.
I move the distance of my arms
15 feet away and she walks
towards them
to be picked up.
she stands still in the
humid parking lot
in front of the post office.
she stands by any car and wails
to be let into the car.
going down the steps today the lady
told her kid "be careful
that man is carrying a baby
well I guess a little girl"

putting a price on her head

2010-09-04T12:55:00.001-07:00

the debt collector said
you mentioned your son
and I said a daughter actually.
there was silence
and she said I'll have
you talk to my manager.
I asked her what there
was that she couldn't explain
and she told me that the
manager would be on
the line soon.
I have to go to work
I said and she said
you called us.
you have four minutes
to wind this up miss.
I'll get him she said.
I asked again
what is it that you can't
explain about
what happens next.
the manager came
onto the line and we
wheedled and I accused
him of humiliation
and we came to an agreement.
I said that he must feel
victorious and he told me that
he didn't look at it that way.
I asked him what his success
rate was at collecting money.
like a pal now he told me
that only twenty percent
of people pay their debt
and conceded that he
was victorious.

2010-09-02T22:21:00.001-07:00

the baying of the locusts
is deafening

a song that even fish
can hear
like underwater dogs

nearly a shriek
not quite violins
a thrumming dome

something will happen

they'll wake
my child

who is outstretched
on the porch swing
dozing

2010-09-02T22:20:00.001-07:00

as she sickened
he stopped eating
and the rings
slipped off
of his fingers.
he forgot how
to cook but
the food his wife
made for him
was stringy and dull.
he breathed in deeply
at three am
and then quickly
many times
until dawn.
dreams of food
that left him
muddled and full.
a bloated
awakening.

2010-09-02T22:18:00.001-07:00

the dumb potatoes
everyone grows
taste just like
every other potato
but they’re dirtier
and maybe the work
of cleaning them
makes them taste
better than the
stupid beets
that taste of dirt
and similarly to sardines
divide people
because they taste
like where they're from.

2010-08-31T17:35:00.000-07:00

She taps her left index finger
in an impatient gesture
like Peter Lorre's.
It's precise and isolated
and if other gestures
weren't primitive

like when she hits her head
with her left palm
and flexes her
legs without jumping because
she doen't know how to
leave the ground
I'd grasp her age.

It's the mix of adult and toddler
that confuses me.
Her seizures were
a 65 year old alcoholic's.
We've seen her
possessed by a
bayonetted soldier.
The mélange makes
me afraid. She holds my
thumb in her little hand
but taps her finger
like she's listening to jazz.

2010-07-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

two days this week
the man that walks past me
all hurky jerky and chewing
on his mouth
palsied and drunk
as i run
in the tepid dawn
nods three times
for my one
and stutters with
all his limbs.

3 kids wait for a bus
they're sullen bullies
but maybe just
barely awake.

when i get home we
dress lucia and
expect the left arm raised
and the right arm that must
be folded into her sleeve. i
balance her standing against my face
and pull up her trousers and button
her pants as they swoop up
over her bottom.
she has a smile today
when the front door
opens and the warm air
and light wash over her
pale skin. she settles then
into a contemplation
of the shuffling leaves

2010-07-28T21:27:00.001-07:00

amanda puts
lucia in little dresses.
i think they emphasize
her spidery legs
and jutting
skinniness.
amanda says
i dress lucia
like a boy.
a tough little
boy in t shirts
and shorts that
i pick out and
dress her in.

2010-07-28T21:26:00.001-07:00

lucia's little face
pasted in cutouts
of a sumo wrestler

if only she were
that big
or would slap her
thighs in a parody
of aggressive satiety

2010-07-28T21:24:00.002-07:00

the fireflies disappeared
with the heat of late july

empty yards

i noticed after seeing
the airplane light
move from
one oak tree
to the next oak
tree branch

2010-07-28T21:24:00.001-07:00

the heat calms the
swingset. slack sails
hanging over the dirt

science fiction

If she went to sleep
and woke up in a 1000 years
she would stretch the same way.
She couldn't teach them
anything about the past apart
from what we couldn't fix.
If they could fix her
then she would miss us
otherwise no, she wouldn't.

Is it better that she
had drowned at 10
or that she stumble into
a group home
with caretakers that
aren't as smart as we are
and be the girl that
could have been
beautiful and long legged?

The future people
say why was his grief so
limited for anybody else
and are her
parents happy for her now?
We've made her better.
Different than she was.

2010-07-28T21:23:00.001-07:00

earlier as she whined
everytime i lifted her
and cried each time i
stood in her way my wife
said "daddy's not loving
you very much right now."

later lucia pulled
the pillow over her face
again and again and
seemed to love it
smothering her face
and then being surprised
each time she pulled it
off her face to see
my big head. i tickled
her each time and tried
to teach her to
hide and court surprise.

at first there was something
grotesque about the pillow
over her face and i worried
it was frightening my wife.
but first a pillow
to hide behind
then a fort.

2010-07-24T22:37:00.000-07:00

lucia feels motion
past the car window
and I feel it too.
we ignore the cows
the corn and the barns
and I forget I'm driving.

a cloud shaped
like a swan
or a dragon
wheels around to
the front of us
as the road curves
imperceptibly right.

look I say to my wife
look at that cloud.
she nods like she
is saying a small hello.

hey hey pretty baby

2010-07-15T11:51:00.001-07:00

woody guthrie's daughter died in a fire
after he wrote her sweet simple songs
and sang them with a plaintive and pleading tone
"who's my pretty baby (hey hey pretty baby)"

Lucia stops at the top of a step or a curb
and as she clutches vaguely for some help
I know that we together lost the mandate of heaven
woody and lucia and cathy and me

a dust bowl and the ceiling fan rhythm
of the locusts that persist all evening

the weather roils on

boiling heat or mean cold

I smell tangerines and taste watermelons

the chill on my tongue
the tang in my nose
and the bitter pleasure of beer

and the rocking of a child
rapid and accelerating
steady and monotonous
and without comfort
frantic and clicking and clacking

2010-07-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

2010-04-12T12:25:00.001-07:00

my schizophrenic patient tells me
when I ask him that the voices
are neither male nor female and
from nowhere in particular and from
everywhere at once. he finds it
difficult to explain that there’s no
left or right or from within to it.

when the geese come baying
like hunting dogs over the
center of the town
only the dogs in the yard
know from which direction
they’re coming and stop
and stare up and to the left

this has to be the
sound of his voices
underwater and horizonless
conversational and ominous

after the geese are gone
the small sounds in the coral
branches of the alley’s trees
resume timorously and then
clicking and clucking like
chickens and tropical things.

there isn’t a pause
for the buzz of a small
plane that flies from
left to right
between the wires
and the flat winter clouds.

Hospital Poems

2010-04-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

I stay at the hotel for sick people
and their relatives.
Long haired little girls
play at the park down the street
where they laugh as the spray from
the fountain mists their faces.
On the seventh floor
of the hospital
the focus
of the lines
and the tubes
and the sun
and the nurse
named nicole
or Julie is the
girl lying on
her side
in the bed
only half
of which
she takes up
with hardly a dent
inthe matress
or a ripple in the sheet.
We try to make a
hammock of the bed
or a coccoon of the sheets.
To me she is
the engine that
runs the place.
She is a universe
from which things
expand and
will someday
contract until
she is dense
and all there is.
Walking to the hotel
and stopping to breathe
the flowering fruit trees
that smell of bleach.
What a thing to stand
in the middle of a canyon
through tall buildings and
occasionally lit windows
that belie the slightly more
casual evening shift of
the nurses and the calm
between the buildings and
higher up the sounds of
fans and heicopters
and the men and women
who trudge to work or
home late between the
buildings built and being
built for fixing something
fallible and perhaps useless.
They appear to stroll a little
as does anyone walking
this late on a spring evebing
that is as quiet as this
being the night before
Easter and the nods we exchange
are the same trusting knowing
salutations I've given to
people on a beach in a breeze
in front of the rushing waves
as we go somewhere to
sleep and feel as safe
as we can knowing that
something happened or
nothing happened.
The evening breeze
hints of a fire maybe in
the mountains
but cooling now
and almost skin temperature.
The casualness of
the evening lends
itself to idleness
which feels like disengagment
and disengagement is
like sabotage. Empathy for
the cry and that moment
a pang and a pain that is
more sadness at a prick
a poke a headache that
won't ever be described
and if never described
maybe never remembered.
They say dogs don't feel
pain just respond functionally
but on the other hand
what is anesthesia but
the absence of memory
and after that
an instinct to live
and to awaken.
Blood in tubes
straw colored fluids
fever fever fever
vomit and the
catalog a mother keeps.
The Mormon doctor
described the sickness
of my child as a
fucking nightmare.
He said it matter of factly
and was thinking of the
death of his grandson.

The stitching over my
daughters left ear
is shaped like a
question mark
the tail of which is
on her temple.
The surgeon told us
this was the way
she would be cut.
I thought he spoke
figuratively but he spoke
literally. They cut her
hair around the incision
and gave it to us
in an envelope.
It's a point of pride
to them that they
don't shave the entire
head and is apparently a
comfort to mothers as well.

Sounds of helicopters and windchimes
in the rooftop garden of the children's hospital.
Beautifully done but the white coats
and pale stricken children lend it
a slight air of the sanitarium.
We surround my daughter who lays in
her wagon like a wounded soldier
smiling occasionally at the wind in
her hair but more often lolling her
head back weakened and just barely
tolerating the lack of understanding
the doting civilians have of waste and futility.
Happy for the sun on her upturned
face but not energetic enough to shake
her head and say "They're fools why are
they such fools. They must at least mean well."
We want her to appreciate the sun
and know that it's warm and what we want
her to live in and soak up victoriously.
Over there a 6 year old girl
with a left arm atrophied and
in the position of padma mudra
hops from imaginary stone
to imaginary stone
awkwardly but with abandon.

Stunned grandparents too old
for this worry and unprepared
for finding their way through the
halls of a children’s hospital.
They've dressed nicely and are
unused to feeling so well.
They’re more affectionate to one
another than they've been in years.
Is this the way he says
just follow the signs she says
clinging to his arm.

Three Minute Fiction Entry

2010-03-23T08:24:00.001-07:00

Photo by Robb Hill www.robbhill.com

55 Cents a Line

“What’s this," she said as though she were already in a debate. She stabbed her finger down hard. “What is this?”
He looked at it suspiciously. Like a contract he wouldn’t admit not understanding.
“It’s the personal ads.”
“And?”
“And something you think I wrote."
“Like a poem?”
He’d written her poetry before. As apology, as plea, as tribute, as come on. Reading this though, it didn’t seem poetic. Not focused. Telling more than it showed. A little obvious. Trite even. But sweet. Sort of wide-eyed. One obvious simile where maybe a metaphor would have worked better.
“Well. Ok. Here it is. It’s nice, right? Not the usual thing.”
She looked at him from the right side of both of her eyes. Then her face turned towards him a little. Her finger was still extended and she raised it to her mouth.
“Is this how you think of me? Do my lips part slightly? Really? Slightly?”
This was a good point. He liked it better when her teeth showed and she opened her mouth wide and incredulously. She’d raised her arms in mock triumph and danced on her toes like a champion when she'd beaten him up the stairs to his apartment once. She was like a ballerina boxer then. He’d kissed her right away, happy to be vanquished.
“Well it’s not like it’s a love poem exactly. And not a personal ad really. Not exactly,” he said.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me,” she said. “Something that might tell me what you’re looking for. Something that tells me why this is for me and not from a Hallmark card you looked at. For some girl you have in your head. I happened to see this. Did you not know I would see this?”
A woman walked by and he caught a glimpse of blonde hair. He looked fast and hard at the table. He realized she'd never cared about that sort of thing.
“It’s for you. It’s something you happened to see that’s for you. Everything you’re reading is about you.”
“What,” she said, “makes you so smart about what I think? Do you think I’ve never read any letters you’ve written or seen what pages you fold over in books?”
He needed to get to work but wasn’t going to get up from the table. He felt caught in traffic.
“There’s something I want to say. It’s something longer than what you see there. It’s something not small.”
Her eyes scanned it again.
“I want to dismiss this,” she said. “But I can’t. It isn’t seemly.”
They both looked up from the table at that word. Seemly.
“Seamy?” he said. “Simile?”
“What the hell,” she said. “You think I’m stupid. You really think I’m stupid.”
“No. No. Smart in everything. Smart in all things. Well read too, apparently.”
That carved a space around them. He thought maybe there was a hush. He felt dizzy. Her finger was still pointed. It was rigid now and angled downwards.
“Look baby,” she said. “Look here. “
He looked at her finger like there was an eye in it.
“I have no further use for this,” she said. “None. There’s something sad about what you wrote here. You were proud of us once. What did you think you had then that you think you have to ask for now?”
She rose up out of the capsule they’d created and he followed her out, leaving the paper open on the table.

2010-02-02T12:46:00.000-08:00

the black men
and the girls
love my
velvet coat

my wife says
it's purple
but it's brown

the girls
caress it
with a finger
when they
gesture

the brothers
point
purse their lips
and nod

2010-02-01T19:40:00.000-08:00

in her three year old picture
she’s on the edge of tears
tense mouthed
gasping and beached

she’s in a dress that is
green and orange
she has a bruise on
her left cheek

a hard chair
maybe for sitting
but not for this fish

she would like to be
underwater where
she came from
and could breathe

she’s been
interrupted
repetitively mouthing
coral.

her 4 year old picture
is a porcelain cameo

we yelled flapped
and clucked
but what finally
worked was me
screaming desperately
or so I would
like to believe

but probably she
felt her stomach
move or saw a
shadow that looked
like a ceiling fan
and smiled at her
left hand and its fingers

I don’t know what
she sees even though
I hold her hands
from behind to help
her know what
it’s like to eat

I know that
this year's picture
was what I gave to
family friends and even to
strangers to let them know
that this is my daughter
posed and in profile
looking at us on her left

2010-01-26T20:51:00.001-08:00

the delicate gourmand

at home chef tries never
to leave his knife
out on the cutting board.
he has a dog
that leaps up onto
the counter for
crumbs and sauces.
he's afraid the dog
will lick the
blade and casually
slice his tongue open like
a ripe tomato.sometimes
he forgets this rule and
when he comes home from
the restaurant finds the
cutting board clean
and still moist but the knife
unmoved and shining.

2010-01-26T20:21:00.001-08:00

shell shock

we have ptsd here
and nearly dive for
the bird that
seems flung
past our head at its
nest in the holiday
wreath above the porch.

we used to plunge
towards lucia
as she pitched forward
with a gunshot fast bow
simultaneous with
the jumping silverware
on the restaurant table
rattled as though in anger.

we were never
fast enough and
settled for an
indication of intent
and then consolation.

these days when she
goes blank and her
right arm stiffens
she stays on her feet
then smiles slightly
at nothing.

our startled gesture
persists followed by
the pause of a
thing in a forest
hunted or watched.

2010-01-23T19:51:00.001-08:00

the international date line

that village takes great pride in the
taut cable that intersects the rows of houses
going through their sidewalkless and
groomed front lawns under the
front doors and then into the backard
where the basement window meets the grass.
they mow up to it
clip carefully underneath and
snap it like a chalked string.

in that town the cable is loose
and the children skip rope with it
use it for the limbo
and make it ripple
and crack like a whip.
the kids and the adults say
“see you tomorrow” and
step one foot to the left. it’s
frayed with use and ribbons.

here it’s hardly visible.
a blurred shadow that
people pass through
and then over again.
all day they move from today into
yesterday and then tomorrow

2010-01-17T19:26:00.001-08:00

lucia's 4th birthday

my wife has a fever of 102.9 today. Is it
because lucia is 4 years old today? how
sick will amanda be when lucia is 12?
there have to be circumstances that will
undo the fever and allow us to go to
the park smiling and afebrile.

it's lucia's birthday now and she's lying
next to her feverish mother who passed
into delirium 4 years ago.

happy birthday lucia
happiest in the water floating
or held by your mother
in the shower against her breasts
with your head thrown back
or with me gnawing at your
arms and your neck

when you're happiest i'm
happiest and your smile atop
your suddenly balanced body
overbalances me

2010-01-14T21:21:00.001-08:00

the opposite of feral

my dog is loyal llike a seal
with swept back ears and fur that
smoothes past his eyes. it is said

that he howled on post op day 5
and as her eyes diverted he wouldn't
come into the kennel
and i thought superstition and
crap from religious people. but maybe

his dull brown eyes aren't so
dull even though there's nothing his
jaws couldn't tear. i pull back his jowl and
run my finger over his blackening
gums and his chipped canines
and bite his cheek like his mother did

2010-01-14T21:15:00.000-08:00

when you flush your toilet in the hospital
you realize that it’s all plumbing within
walls. the magic of water that rises
to the 12th floor
soothes throats chills veins
and finds its ways to hearts that
pummel something into the oblivion that
the 3am nurse senses from her desk
amidst the flapping white coats.
the plumbing was here long ago and
formed like a coral coccoon.

the water in the sink is shocking
fresh and cold not like linoleum but
from the river or the lake and
conjugates to the outside more than
the window that is as
likely to open as a submarines's.

the water comes directly from the
wet air outside this place because
we’re all underwater here drowning
if we step outside the dry and still hospital
with its echoes of fan blades and the places
you‘re surprised to find a
comfortable bench in a long hall
that is a place to sit and
nod at people who are also
undrowned and learning again to breathe

2010-01-11T20:48:00.001-08:00

so this is bacchus real name antonio tony to his friends
mr. a to his young disciples. he's swarthier than i thought
he would be. is he black or hispanic people often ask. he's not
italian or greek although he effects a certain continental
know-how over his bare feet which he wishes were in slippers.
the grapes are muy bueno but
his knowledge of the wine is not so good.
he's not sure whether to pluck them off or twist them with
his fingertips. wasn't there supposed to be someone dropping
them delicately into his open mouth? he thought the
green would taste different from the purple
but they all taste vaguely like grass and melons.
he knows he was raised for this gig but its tough
when you walk down one side of the street and the white women
cross over to the other. is this the frenzy he was promised?
he just wants to sit in his leopard skin fauteuil and
maybe nap maybe not but stop
thinking about words like wine, squash, mad, and bachanal.
he wants new words, calmer words
like junket, forestall, and palate.
yes he's older but then he'll die and come back
as a baby named charlene and have to
wait it out all over again, this time as a woman.

2010-01-11T20:41:00.000-08:00

radicals from the third world

during my convalescence i stayed
with my dark haired girlfriend who was
political and there were many comings
and goings early in the morning and late
at night. this was new to me and
as mysterious as her bank account.

one midnight there were fierce young men
talking about a frog wounded by a shark.
the frog was transluscent and
large with a shape in its abdomen
moving or not moving
swallowed or gestated.

it leaked poison from its skin and
more frogs came. small bitter tasting
frogs which floated like oil kicking their
spindly legs lazily and they overwhlemed
the shark with greasy glandular
secretions and small bites.

i feared these men and read the
papers scared and wary but the men
just kept coming over
watched nature programs and
laughed at odd and savage things.

2010-01-09T09:55:00.001-08:00

i know there is nobility in the
way i'm a father to this child
but i would be reassured by some
sort of celebrity and with my piety
acknowledged. the callous repose
i have with medical talk
isn't close to the agitation
she makes me feel and
the bellowing i hope my
neighbors can't hear
through the ancient
brittle and rippling windows
of our thick walled and
high ceilinged house

2010-01-09T09:54:00.000-08:00

what she finds funny

she rolls onto her left arm
and laughs. she must find
her taut shoulder funny.
I think: this is the way
criminals are subdued.

they know to stop
flailing and yelling
when their arm might break.

what if her arm were to snap
or the shoulder to dislocate
under the pressure of
her hilarity? she has only
this arm and the palsied one
that lifts from the shoulder

that she treats sometimes
like an encumbrance and
sometimes like a toy. she laughs
again laying back on her arm
and I laugh at her hilarious contortion

2010-01-09T09:53:00.001-08:00

because she was crying

i went to the kitchen
to get her some milk.

she shambled into the
kitchen as well maybe

to get some milk. it
was the second time

she’s done that so i
only gave her half

so she would be
thirsty again soon.

2010-01-09T09:52:00.000-08:00

absentminded

i picked up the sugar bowl
lid and took it upstairs
instead of the coffee.

that was something I used to
do in the morning with my
mashed up thinking and one open eye
but now it happens at night
when I forget the dogs are out
and awaken to barking at 2am.

part of me lives in another dimension
where the milk bottle is a match
and the fork is a baby shoe.

it isn’t alzheimer’s it’s a pre-occupation
with trying to do what’s automatic
that will only get more muddled
as she gets older and the
mechanics of every day
entangle with the drudgery

of the abnormal. the bee flies
to the flower even after its hive is
ablaze and melting. our will to move her
is all there is right now although we
were willing to be moved to a posy
an egg an acorn or a swing with the
freshness and the arc of her leaping voice.

2010-01-09T09:51:00.000-08:00

1.
our baby is dry and
we are wringing it against
ourselves trying to wheedle
every bit we can from it

rubbing it against the rocks
of our faces and
wringing it in our fists

we provoke cajole bite
with-hold and taunt
wanting a point a laugh

we beg for a gesture
that means we you or me

something that proves she
deserves to command the dogs

2.

there are seizures and the
gasping state just after

this is the tyranny of the hurricane
eyes pulled willy nilly
and teeth crushed together

there is an absence of grace
here and nothing
that would say
“I am making dinner”
and “ I am reciting verse”

kissing her head I
feel her soft red hair

3.

if this dissonant
part next to the empty part
of brain were gone
would it go as a vapor
steaming for a moment
then quiet and empty
as the space between planets?

there is a constant
number of souls
in the universe
or there is a constant
wispy mass which makes
up the universe

4.
she wishes she could
lengthen her arms wrap up
her father and say watch me work
I am the function I am the
stars I work like the sun
my arms bask you
and I am sand
be warmed by my
heart between my arms
don’t cry you make me warm
here are my arms my weeping parents

2010-01-07T20:36:00.001-08:00

he said parts
of her brain
would be
like gossamer

and that would
help guide him
to the parts
that are not
like gossamer.

he seemed
competent and
the word gossamer
seemed impractical
and poetic

and i trusted
him then.

2010-01-06T05:49:00.000-08:00

2010-01-03T01:50:00.001-08:00

when lucia was in the hospital in july
being monitored and videoed and we waited
for seizures in the coolness of the uncarpeted
room next to the nurse's station

and remotes and wireless conections weren't allowed because
they interfere with the equipment that records brain activity
and anxious parents patrol the halls with cell phones
and brief conspiratorial glances at one another

i went through the hopital's sliding doors like out of an airlock
into the opposite of space's vacuum. noon heat and people
going to work and traffic lights. down the street and to
the st. louis zoo which is in the middle of this
park that is like a forest. i thought what a nice jog
that would be past the animals of africa and antarctica.

the zoo was crowded with clumps of slow
moving families and i slowed to a walk irritated
and angry like i was at the mall.

i stared at the animals all of us stupid
from the heat apart from the swimming
hippo that bulged the aquarium glass with it's bulk.

they knew and i knew that these kids
have them caged and dumb and companionless.

2010-01-03T01:47:00.001-08:00

the burnt smell of fall
through the open door.

the smoke is the mist of
damp wanting to be where
it is warm.

dry steam from open mouths
the first seen breath of the season

each exhalation a meditation
on what it means to
ascend and disappear.

then a foggy rain.
fear of getting wet but
not of drowning. the
rain hisses like cats

through the trees
and the leaves tilt
and fall wetly
and at once.

2010-01-03T01:44:00.000-08:00

the arrogant martyr

so many women now know
that i was the better choice.

that may not have been
the case then
but now i fancy myself a
monk. a vain one

on a mountaintop
with my wife and child
and a few nice things.

2010-01-03T01:42:00.000-08:00

euro thanksgiving

my mother’s specialty
was salmon mousse and a stuffing that featured
anchovies capers and turkey liver. never served as a buffet
and with a salad after the main course. I was allowed a cognac
dipped sugar cube which I pretended to enjoy.
at the table was tom doughnut who
managed a fast food restaurant and emmanuel from
ghana and a stuttering man who could
find alternate words for the ones that
troubled him. there was also gustav the belgian
multilingual professor who held forth about moby dick
and the jesuits. the austrian physician and his
famous russian cellist wife who waved a drumstick
whilst saying da da da DA to Beethoven’s fifth
symphony. there was an orderly progression
of courses and one year loud electric shears for the turkey
that sounded like hedge clippers
and the next a large pair
of curved medieval scissors.
there were platters and plates and
warming dishes that appeared from nowhere.

my parents were efforless but where will my wife and
i find the dishes we need? we have no room for the wine glasses
in our cupboards. will someone get drunk enough to skip
around the block? there was the rumor of that happening
before I was old enough to comprehend. who can I adopt
into my warm house that someday I’ll remember
leaving into the fall night to their world
as my parents do the dishes and put the leftovers
into the fridge? there was the clatter
of silverware as I got ready for bed
the echo of guests in the house
after they had gone.

2010-01-03T01:41:00.001-08:00

the neighbor never ignores 2 am impulses
to write to drink to fish maybe someday to mow.
otherwise he would lay half asleep and
stay too long at what should have been

the sudden palpitation:
the plane’s turbulence
and the nauseous
perception of the ocean’s depth
beneath a transatlantic flight

the sudden tilt of the house
and the rattling at the door
that may be a cat or a raccoon

the lurch of realizing that
at a slight angle to here things could
have been perfect or not
the second after yanking
the steering wheel or not
the dream of falling or of being shot
interrupted by choosing to awaken

sweet smiles from strangers that seem
like recognition but aren’t promises
or a friendship just polite
or not even that.
the dream in which he speaks perfect french

then waking to find he’s not the safe passenger
but forced back into his seat by events
both rapid and unexpected that may
take minutes or years to unfold. the difference
between the owls earthy hoot and the cicada lofted moon

Ironman Race Report Part One

2009-09-22T08:08:00.000-07:00

From: pshils@sbcjhgj.net [mailto:pshils@sjhif.net]
Sent: Friday, July 31, 2009 11:05 AM
To: Wisconsin
Subject: Athlete Inquiry - Ford Ironman Wisconsin
From: Philippe Shils
Email:*&*@Iijuhiu.nom
Message regarding Ford Ironman Wisconsin:
I am registered for Ironman Wisconsin 2009. My daughter is 3.5 years old and has medically refractory epilepsy secondary to a stroke which occurred when she had surgery at 1 month old to repair a cardiac defect. She has been in and out of the hospital and ill for much of the period I would have been training heavily and my training has, as a result, been inadequate. I would really appreciate a deferral for this year until 2010. My dream is that my daughter--who just started walking at 3 years old--will be able to accompany me across the finish line and that we can be ironmen together. If I don't get a deferral, it won't be possible. Thank you for your attention to this matter. Phil Shils

Subject: RE: Athlete Inquiry - Ford Ironman Wisconsin
To: "pshils@jkhkjh@jhofcv.com
Date: Tuesday, August 4, 2009, 12:57 PM

Philippe,
Thank you for your email. I am extremely sorry to hear about your daughter. Unfortunately we do not offer deferrals or transfers on any of our events. Please review our refund policy below:
Withdrawal requests must be received in writing via E-mail to Wisconsin@ironman.com. Without exception, all requests must be received on or before July 31, 2009 to be eligible for a partial refund of $150.00 (USD). Transfers or deferrals are NOT permitted. *Withdrawal policy also applies to the Ironman Community Foundation Slots*
Once you have reviewed the policy, please let me know if you wish to proceed. Also, we have a new finish line policy which prohibits non-athletes from being on the course at anytime:
Finish Line Policy:
Friends and/or family members will no longer be permitted to cross the finish line or enter the finish chute with participating athletes. This policy will allow each competitor adequate time to celebrate their accomplishment without interfering with other finishers and ensure the safety of all participants, volunteers and fans. Athletes who choose not to respect the new policy will receive an automatic disqualification (DQ).
Best wishes,
Michael Lynn Turtle
Athlete Services Coordinator
Ironman World Headquarters

So that’s a little context. Maybe that was all just excuses and my training never would have been adequate. But in any case, I went to Wisconsin the Thursday before Ironman Sunday ready to enjoy the Ironman experience but also a little cynical about the whole enterprise. The month before had contained many thoughts about finishing or not finishing. Ironically, after a couple of beers my resolve would harden and I’d think and say to my wife “I can do this. I’m gonna finish the Ironman.” Slurred and overly loud. Again with irony: after moderately long bike rides or runs I’d say softly and with a defeated sigh: “no way can I do this.” Obstacles I decided to put in my way were: a change in liquid nutrition 2 weeks prior to the race to something called “Phil’s Insane Bike Mix,” and plans to go to a beer festival the day before the race. These things would either be rationale for not finishing, or make the whole ordeal into something ballad-worthy. Heads I win, tails you lose.

We arrived in Madison Thursday evening into the loving embrace of our friends the Machotkas. The big news from Madison as relates to Ironman: the temperature would be warm, the skies fair, and there was a body in Lake Monona. A drunken swim the week before hadn’t gone well, the body was still somewhere in the lake, and the Ironman organization was furious that someone had possibly discovered a way to bandit their race. I think many people were relieved they wouldn’t be the slowest person in the water on Sunday.

The Machotkas and Shils embarked on Phase I of Phil’s Tiered Hydration Plan and stayed up late sampling craft and home brews. The fact that I hadn’t biked more than 65 miles at a time the whole summer and had, in fact, never ridden more than 85 miles in my life was brought up and toasted. The shadow of doubt crossed my mind but was banished and washed down with the swallow of a ridiculously good Stone Brewery ale brought back from San Diego by Deb.

Also in the back of my mind: The Big Bet. Apparently some months before, Spin City F.C. headquarters was the sight of some wagering: Kyle the Kingfish who has seen big men fall from lofty pedestals and small men do well with their brains is minding the shop and turns to his right hand man and parking valet and says “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the how the smart money bets." Handy Andy, always one to sense what Kyle is driving at even if Kyle does not, in fact, know himself says, “I’m thinking Pdawg’s chances are within the realm of possibility. At least a possibility I’d stake some shekels’ on. If I get odds. Odds that are favorable.” At this moment, Daring Eric McBanker--sensing from afar that a discussion has turned to money and demonstrating his propensity for well-timed entrances--comes into the shop and says, “In my wisdom, and as demonstration of his wisdom, I think young P-Dawg will be somewhere other than Madison come race day doing something of equal worth but less strenuous.”
Andy ponders this for a moment and says, “I say he goes to Madison and at least starts the race.” With a thoughtful scowl, Kyle says, “He goes and doesn’t enter.” And with the potential of virtually doubling his hourly salary at least for a minute, Handy Andy cannot turn that bet down.
All attempted Damon Runyon style. You can see that the stakes were, indeed, quite high.

2009-08-24T19:35:00.000-07:00

walking is falling

when i pick up the teapot
between my two fingers
and thumb my hand is wet

and i let the teapot
slip forwards until it rests
against my other two fingers
at an angle for pouring.

a little tea spills from
under the lid and i think

this is what it
will be like to be old

compensating for the
overbalancing of things.

2009-08-24T19:23:00.000-07:00

pets
1.
in the summer even when
it isn't especially hot the dogs
the old one and the fat one
hang their mouths
half open like sharks
they move backwards awkwardly
with stiff legs and clicking nails
over the wood floor to get out of
the way unlike sharks that
don't move backwards at all

2.
jerry ages nightly at 930 when
he's rousted from his spot
in front of the baby
and he walks
into the closet for a moment and
then into the laundry room as i
yell at him like i used to when
he chewed my hats and then regret
yelling at the dopey old man
who during the day
fetches and leaps not for the
acrobatic victory of it but to please me.
what's my hurry
what is it that i have to do other
than just go to bed

3.
the calico is next to the
dogfood on the back porch
chasing mice. if we had known
she was the hunter we wouldn't
have declawed her. as it is
she seems content to
club the cute things
to death with her paws.

4.
this cat pees on the bed
and those 2 live in the walls
of the third floor.the only male
is the oldest the uniter the
king of flicking his tail but he fears
the calico. the dogs shed mouse
sized fur clumps that don't go in
the compost or in a pillow and that
even the cats won't play with so
they just lay there and make me itch.

2009-08-21T08:48:00.001-07:00

we waited and waited
for the mussels to open

and finally went across
the street to the pub
and drank and kissed

then went home
to the mussels
that
were still
tightlipped.

2009-08-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

my neighbor's tomatoes
are red as
watermelon meat

and ribbed
like primordial fruit

that will withstand
anything but
the eating of them

2009-08-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

Herbs

1.sage is never crisp
the leaves are thick
and soft and when
chiffonaded they cling
furry and moldy and
smell of wintergreen
pine under snow

2.
prehistoric rosemary
the still and silent
shrub. two toothpicks
of the stuff bring
grass and dirt back
to the roast.

3.
too much
basil. nearly salty and
not sweet enough. syrup
if syrup was mainly
smoke and only
slightly sap.

4.
thyme is what a chicken's
entrails should be made of.
teardrop leaves that coat its insides
and are in return moistened
with the bird's dew
and would grow vinelike.

2009-07-25T23:42:00.000-07:00

someone stole the Lamictal
off our front porch.
a cartoon dose of chewable pills
in a bottle
amongst little dresses
in a caricature of carry-on luggage
pink and fuzzy with a smiling bear
on the front and extendable 2 foot handles.

i looked for it under
the sink and in the
kitchen cupboard knowing it
wouldn't fit in those places
and to slam things shut

perhaps i'd see it in an alley
and have to carry
it home wounded and
with a broken zipper
clothes rupturing out of it
and meds gone and
stride to my front door
holding it like a box
making a slight sideways adjustment
for the front walk that is tilted and would

be accounted for by an earthquake
if we lived in california

but we went to bed and
fought a halfhearted
battle about the
neighborhood which ended
with a joke about the
tastes of thieves

demons cavorting
around a furry suitcase
they wouldn't dare burn
but not above gorging on
black currant flavored tablets

would the mailman
find it walking his route
carefully place it under
the mailbox knocked
and leaave before
i could answer?

it was found
in the morning by my
wife. it had fallen
off the front porch
and into the bushes
and hostas she planted
where it sat all night
next to the stone birdbath
a place i hadn't
thought to look

2009-07-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

another button lost from
my trousers that
slides across the
bathroom tiles
like a beetle as
i try to pick it
up. either my pants
are all old or i'm getting
fatter or maybe more
forceful but
they come off
without any vigor
not even a pop
just the slight squeeze
that would loose
a ripe berry.

2009-07-14T21:22:00.000-07:00

people write autobiographies
to figure out if they’re cursed or
just complacent. they have moved

too many times or too few.
traveled too much or too little.
it has been a long time since they
have seen the mountains and even
longer since they have been to the sea.

childless men and women reflect on
moving into this house or that apartment
after they walked off a boat or after
a truck dropped off the furniture and
left them alone in a medium sized town
that was never meant
to be home but in fact is.

and those with children wonder why it
is they’re not appreciated the way a
biographer obsessed with the entire
template and index of a life
will be appreciative when he

finds the letter about a walk to the park
or the casually signed lease or hears the anecdote
told by a friend about the late arrival to a party
that saved a toddler from fire. who will search out

the old photos folded into a book or the
list of ingredients in your handwriting
sitting in an empty billfold in a drawer

2009-07-05T13:06:00.000-07:00

Now that's the way to run...with joy and a smile.

A rainy but fantastic day for Max's first triathlon.

2009-06-27T23:39:00.000-07:00

We take for granted the
movements and habits
of our dogs until
they're old
and in the way
and then again
when we get puppies

or they just
bare their teeth
for a moment.
Once I almost fell
to certain death
down the stairs over
my sleeping fat dog
and was mad and
ready to beat her but
she was just comfortable

with three legs a belly
and her chin flat
on the step under
the top one
and one paw on
the step below.

2009-06-22T20:57:00.001-07:00

although I see kids who spit
and bite and would curse if they could
and don’t change with eye contact and soft
words and reasonable or angry talk because
they don’t know you or anyone else

the laughing girl has found a way to laugh
which sounds grown up and makes you
think she will speak because how far is a laugh
from a word? not further than a howl is
from a nod or a scream is from a question

2009-06-22T20:40:00.001-07:00

surely the pulse from this event
must blow a hard recoil and should
distort my face centrifugally like hers.

the police will come.
the birds will leap off the branches
and wires. the seas will ripple

and the moon move slightly away.
the stars will quiver and the
galaxies shiver for a moment like gongs.

this is where all vibrations
should start and maybe do:

in the brain and in the nerves and
in the atoms that my daughter shares
with the universe’s now discordant timbre.

2009-06-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

near haikus but not
quite. seventeen syllables
is just not enough:

trees give no relief
the green leaves promise coolness
but dry fevered skin
is what you get.

slept very little
no shower this morning but
firm lace on my shoes
is something.

2009-06-20T21:24:00.000-07:00

Open water swim "race" today on Lake Decatur. Three times around...just me, my thoughts, a lot of water, and many people ahead of me. Practically had the lake to myself. Thanks to the sweet lifeguard who escorted me around the last two buoys like some sort of mirage. Amanda informs me that I apparently don't swim a particularly straight line but tend to swerve like a drunk. Highlights included running headlong into one of the rescue boats, very loud screams not to walk as I came around the beachfront buoy in the shallow water, and my first brief barefoot run jaunt (a new obsession) (I stubbed my toe).

2009-06-20T21:19:00.000-07:00

Here's some pics from last week's dinner with our pals the McRaes and my mom and dad. I'd love to say the highlight of the evening was the Indian meal I cooked or the homebrewed IPA or the house blackberry wine...those things were great but the highlight was Lucia walking around the corner and down the hall to the front door as my mom and dad arrived that afternoon.

2009-06-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

cooking before refrigeration must have
involved timing to avoid cats
licking the butter smooth.
the beadless glass container of milk a bad sign.

the breeze through the window in the humless
kitchen wafting at the small piles of flour.
a hunched and concentrated breath

the opposite of the calm and efficient bustle from
counter to counter to stove to drawer that
must have been essential. that
and the clean linens yet to dry on the line.

2009-06-10T20:23:00.000-07:00

the fridge repairman had to come
to the house today. everything was packed
into coolers full of ice. he stood at the door
looking out towards the street until I let him in.
he stood politely in the hall
until I said the fridge is this way.
ah he said in black leather
dress shoes, navy pants and a light blue shirt.
he had a small black bag with him like the one
a neurologist carries. I peered over his shoulder
as he unscrewed four screws and slid out
something I had no idea moved.
interesting he said how things don't work until I touch
them and then they work again. I have a guess
I suppose you would call it a diagnosis he said. a hypothesis
I countered. no a guess but an educated guess he said.

it needs a part but in the meantime tap here occasionally
but be careful of the hot light in the hopefully cold
refrigerator. he then spoke of relays and pulled out the
fridge and I said oh god i'm sorry
for what's under there
I guess you must see some bad stuff.
this is the worst i've ever seen he said deadpan
could use a broom there.

there was dog food a bottlecap a pen
and a fork and he pushed the fridge
back and as we walked to the front door
something crunched underfoot and he said
remember where to tap? I shook his hand
and said thank you thank you so much

2009-06-08T06:32:00.000-07:00

Huge weekend with the Big Green Van F.C. /Spin City Racing Massive. Here are some pictures that will be mysterious for now. I promise, though, that all will explained in a comprehensive race report that will include magic tricks with doves, the leaning tower of Pisa, excellent hosiery, flux capacitors, and, of course, the Big Green Van. Perhaps in epic poetry form as it would suit the event.

2009-06-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

first come
the startled shiny leaves
of the flowering fruit tree
on a windless and sunny
june afternoon
then flashes
from the edge of the
gutter less roof. I blink
to be sure of the
airy grey streaks.

I know there are
brown sidewalks
and a rainbow but
my daughter
is sleeping and
nothing will have changed.

2009-05-27T22:02:00.000-07:00

reassuring news. upon review of the above picture mr. or mrs. hippo is not wearing the proud trophy of a runner dragged to the depths of the hippo pond. there's another shoe to the right and two legs attached. my legs!!

2009-05-27T21:45:00.000-07:00

smelling the olive oil in the bowl
he recalled the mealiness of
olives but only sensed a coolness in the oil
barely metal but more fruit. he wished
he loved the variety
the sweetness and the occasional
salt of olives. if only
they were more like sardines
and a little like anchovies and
maybe the crisp little pickles if they
came from the sea. instead
he was always disappointed by the
need to chew and chew and chew

2009-05-26T21:14:00.000-07:00

So in answer to the question: Is Lucia any different off meds? Yes she is. We don't really know her off meds but were given that chance last week when they were all held for 6 days. Looking back, she was much more present, alert, and focused. Today we seemed back to vague, non-comittal, and unfocused looks, repetitive gestures, rocking, and friability. She's done better than that on meds but getting them all back at once a day and a half ago seems to have left her pretty wasted.

So what can we say about seizure meds? You pick your poison, I suppose. These aren't benign elixirs...they mediate the way neurons transmit information. It's often said that someone who is an alcholic tends to develop emotionally only until the point at which they start depending on alcohol. Wouldn't be too much of a shock to think mind altering, neuron-stroking, channel-activating medicines create the same set of obstacles. So yes, you pick your poison.

Risk/benefit...is that a medical term or is it applied to investments, wagering, and salemanship? Because in medicine it has definite weight...you risk things like your life and your potential to live life as you were prior to the surgery, and you hope to benefit in terms of those things as well. There are high risk surgeries that can offer huge benefit but also huge risk. There are surgeries that offer up limited risk and only limited benefit or limited possibility of benefit. It seems that the bigger the risk, the bigger the potential benefit. With Lucia...are the risks (for a shunt, for a worsening of her condition, for infection, for blood loss, and yes, for death) worth the benefit of either seizure resolution or seizure improvement. We will discuss odds, predictions, studies...but never guarantees. And in some respects, this is an "elective surgery." Lucia's heart surgery was not...she would have died without it. So...decisions to be made...or at least, we are hoping for opportunity for decisions. ..huge and momentous decisions. Lucia has had heart surgery, and now, potentially, brain surgery.

2009-05-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

An update from home. Yes, the Shils are home. No seizures over the weekend. I was certain one would happen as they removed Lucia's electrodes but no. Amanda turned into quite the eeg tech this weekend as she took a leading role over the weekend to replace unstuck electrodes and make sure that the relevant materials were available. My weekend took something of a hit as I came down with whatever it was Lucia had when we went into the hopital. Suffice it to say that most of Friday night and Saturday were spent seated or supine and that my belt could use a new hole. I watched approximately 230 episodes of Deadliest Catch and am here to tell you that the episodes get a little samey. And that a little "Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi (the theme song) goes a very long way.

Long chat with Lucia's neurologist today. She came in, made herself at home, and we talked for maybe an hour. Where were these long discussions at the other places we have been? It's still felt that Lucia's best option is surgery. Her case will be presented at the St. Louis Children's epilepsy conference on Monday and recommendations made. Sounds like whatever would have been seen with seizures present wouldn't have changed opinions regarding surgery--just would have allowed them to give better predictions in terms of likelihood of improved seizures or resolved seizures. So yeah...no seizures but lots of relationship building and information gathering and that's important too.

Lucia's doc got to see her walk, was quite impressed and shows a real spirit of engagement with Lucia...something we don't always see. So halleluja St. Louis Children's Hospital. I took a walk yesterday to get some dinner and the children's hospital sits in the middle of an energetic and huge medical campus and some of the focus of that drive now shines upon my daughter. It was a reassuring stroll.

Another cool thing...Lucia drank from a straw for the first time today. I thought she was showing signs of understanding what that was all about this week so gave her another opportunity today. The first successful pull was a little bit of a surprise to her but then she got used to it and drank with great dispatch. Ah, the little things...

Now, about the hair...

2009-05-22T17:54:00.000-07:00

Another day without seizures. We spent a lot of time with the neurologists this morning discussing the reasons Lucia is a good surgical candidate. They feel that even without any seizures on video eeg and even if they see some seizure activity in the "good" half of her brain there is a compelling argument to be made in favor of hemisphereotomy. Lucia will be discussed, argued about, and analyzed at their next epilepsy conference in a week and a half or so. The process of selection for epilepsy surgery involves a rigorous vetting process. Which is definitely as it should be. As part of our decision process we were encouraged to have a look at the mri. I have resisted looking at the results of Lucia's studies since seeing the head ultrasound 3 years ago but the docs felt that it offered a very stark illustration of why hemisphereotomy wouldn't significantly change or reduce the working parts of Lucia's brain.
And illustrate that it did. Even for someone as unskilled as I am at reading mri's this one was easy. Even for someone with no medical knowledge it wouldn't be tough. The mri showed me how remarkable Lucia is as she walks, smiles, laughs, and becomes more and more attuned to her world. Everything she does she is doing with half of her brain. There is nothing left of the left side of her brain apart from a little bit from which it's presumed the seizures emanate. I'm glad we saw the mri. It offered up a measure of the ferocity and resilience with which Lucia is adapting and of the tenaciousness she shows as her neurons fire and create new pathways totally unique to her. As I was talking later to my new German neurology resident friend about "functional mri's" and theories about how and why the brain creates identity and feelings like awe and love and fear we paused and watched Lucia walk across the hospital room.

Oh...I went to Square One Brewery for lunch. I had crabcakes and fish tacos. And a flight of beer. The bartender mixed up the order of the beers on the flight...deck. I correctly identified the beers impressing my server, the bartender, and myself. The highlight was the tripel. Rich and...buttery! Also had a saison, an ipa, a scotch ale, and a pale ale.

We may be here until Monday. Definitely until Sunday.

2009-05-21T20:26:00.000-07:00

And we continue to wait for seizures. Tried benadryl...nope. One of her docs suggested we "just stop watching her." The "watched pot" theory of neurology. There is definitely no cookbook approach to neurology. I'm reading "The Omnivore's Dilemma" (don't know exactly what took me so long to get to it...what a great and scary book)) and the author talks about the danger of feeling that you know everything about something. More dangerous than not knowing very much...seems to apply to the brain as well.

Had a long conversation with an Indian neurology resident about restaurants, cooking, food, travel...she recommended a restaurant called, simply, "Indian Food." Said it had "biryani to die for." Said some people just have a knack for putting a little of themselves into everything they cook and that the proprietor of this restaurant has that knack. That's where I got our dinner. It's a humble place in a run-down looking strip mall. It turns out to be one of those finds that everyone feels is their little secret even though it's a quite successful, 9 year old family business run by a father and son. I was greeted at the door like a friend of the family and ordered a lamb biryani and a pakistani stewed beef dish as well as ground lamb samosas and a couple flavors of naan. At one point as I apologized for only having a credit card (they prefer cash) was told "Don't worry about anything...it's your restaurant, man." That struck me as a really hospitable statement. The food was phenomenal-- fresh and complex . Honestly, I think the biryanis I have made are nearly as good--but his was different because it came from different hands. So, actually, very validating of the Indian food I have been cooking lately. It wasn't cliched Indian buffet food...it tasted very homecooked and honest. The rice was perfect, the samosas light and not greasy, and the beef was tender and flavorful. Lots of goat on the menu. (between it and the Jamaican place next door, I suspect they have the goat market cornered) So great smells again from room 1206-A. Luckily, the NPO rooms are way down the hall.

Another nice run...around 35 miles so far this week.

So we wait and watch...probably here at least until Saturday.

2009-05-20T21:02:00.000-07:00

So another day done here at St. Louis Children's and still no seizures. This is requiring quite the mindset alteration. I'm having to temporarily revise all the superstitions and little rituals I have evolved over the last 3 years to attempt to convince my personal gods to keep the seizures at bay.(with no great success--apparently my gods are immune to my dances, dietary restrictions, incantations, and numerologic obsessions) The last thing Lucia's doctor said before she left the room this a.m. after rounds was something along the lines of "Alright sweet Lucia with the beautiful smile...give us some good seizures today." Cootchee Cootchee Coo. So no meds tonite or tomorrow...the first time Lucia has been med free in 3 years.

Ran my 8 or so miles around the park tonite. Chased, caught, and eaten by a grey turtle. You're not moving so fast when the concrete tortoise outpaces you...still slow and steady I'll take.

A dinner of antipasto from Trader Joe's and Whole Foods. The hospital room still smells of garlic, olive oil, and smoked meats.

Lucia above with what one of her docs referred to as the "proto-dreadlock" look. Have I mentioned that I love this place?

And another reason I love cities...always something to steer by. In Chicago it was the Sears Tower. Here it's the Children's Hospital.

2009-05-19T20:46:00.000-07:00

So here I sit in the family lounge (it's the only place where the computer can be plugged in) drinking sleepy time tea, eating a bit of Cahill's Irish porter cheddar cheese and reflecting on the day. We slept pretty well last night. Amanda informs me (wow--you can really taste the porter!) that I fell asleep basically in mid sentence and then a couple of hours later when Lucia pulled out her IV got up and told the nurses about it. I remember exactly none of that.

Lucia in much better spirits today. Back to her giggling and goofing around self. The md's made rounds at around 1000 and we discussed whether smurfs wore different colored hats and whether or not they are extinct. When's the last time you saw a smurf?

We also discussed the conspicuous lack of seizures. Ordinarily something to be happy about...but no seizure activity would defeat our purpose here. So we will back off further on the meds. Lucia never makes things easy.

I went for my run about mid-afternoon. Ran to the zoo and toured that a little. Saw hippos (as above--note the sneaker which appears to be attached to the hippo's neck. odd. only noticed that a few minutes ago), elephants, a rhino, and lots of hot, annoyed people.

Amanda went for a walk in the park later while I played with Lucia and did show tunes for the camera. Actually, at this point, if our stay was an episode of Big Brother, it wouldn't be a very exciting one. Impressive how quickly you forget that a camera is watching every move made in the room. At one point as I tickled Lucia I realized that I was between her and the camera and all they could see was my posterior (clothed of course. all nudity is confined to the bathroom which is camera free and which I am told--another irony--has been the sight of many off camera seizures) high in the air and nearly in the lens.
Had some quite delicious Vietnamese food for dinner. St. Louis Childrens has one flaw amidst all it's diamonds--the cafeteria is desperate. Really, really bad. It features something called the "butter wheel." It's a wheel that is used to coat every piece of bread that comes on anything from the grill with butter. It never stops turning and dispensing with it is apparently not an option. One of the residents told me that there was a grass roots movement to rid the hospital of the butter wheel that ended in shambles. I will attempt to get a photo but I have a feeling that my camera will be confiscated if I am detected.

So now to bed. Good night.

2009-05-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

We are installed at St. Louis Children's. Lucia's fever was brought down by tylenol...but more by the nurses. Nobody brings a fever down like a nurse. They seem to do exactly what parents do, but for some reason (and I've seen this in the ER as well)it just works better.

The room is large and anything plugged into the wall interferes with the eeg...so no computer unless it is on battery power. Which in the case of mine is approximately the amount of time a moderately fast person can run a mile. A little under 7 minutes. And no remote for the tv or dvd player. It's upsetting but we'll manage.

We can see the Arch from our window.

Lucia dealt with the electrode placement with her usual grace and wiry strength. They don't use the air gun here that they use in other places to dry the electrode glue--the eeg tech has been doing this for 35 years(!) and has a secret formula which sticks quickly and allows them to place the electrodes in a fraction of the time it has taken in other places.

Lucia was at the swaddling they put around her head...hence the Phrygian cap. (for all you French revolution buffs).

I went to Whole Foods and foraged a healthy dinner. I also went for a run in the amazing Forest Park. I met a nice neurologist (adults, not kids) and we ran for a while together. Then I met a physician assistant who knows the director of the program from which I graduated. He was walking down the path and I saw his name tag and I said "Hey!! WHat's it like to be a PA in this town?" We talked for about 45 minutes. Pretty cool.

I also talked for about 45 minutes with one of the neurology residents about...beer. He's German and we had a lively discussion regarding the German Purity Laws. (which involve beer ingredients...because reading that sentence it sounds pretty dodgy.)

We're ready to settle in for the night...Maximum darkness. But during the day...Maximum brightness.

BTW, Lucia's black eye happened while she was manning the barricades. (actually--running across the living room.)

2009-05-17T20:27:00.000-07:00

Nice day in monticello riding with friends. a pleasant contrast from last evening spent working in the ER...a transition made a little more seamless with 4 hours sleep. Tomorrow we're off to St. Louis Children's Hospital for 5 days of video eeg testing. An odd feeling to be hoping for seizures. And to throw a little something extra into the mix, Lucia has been sick all day. I called the neurologist on call and citing rule 34.34A of "Irony: Laws and Bylaws" he said "heck yeah...bring her in. May lower her seizure thresh-hold. And after all, you're going to be in a hospital." So off we go. SHe'll be swaddled up in electrodes and have a backpack which may never leave her side.The room will be big and private, room enough for walking once Lucia feels up to it. We've loaded up on computers, books, dvds,we'll get us some snacks, a george foreman grill, a ramen boiling machine, a juicer, juggling lessons acouple of plants that need looking after, and 2 cats....I'll do some running in the park. Thing that took me he longest was picking out my t-shirts. I'm hoping the nurses will think I'm a cool guy based on my hip shirts.

2009-05-12T08:28:00.000-07:00

2009-05-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

Dictator’s obituary

a pastel on his wall:
as horse died
warrior cried
but continued fighting

he seemed to emerge as
president from nowhere and spent
his days governing as though
that were the case. his biography
reaches back many years
when he states he awoke during
a battle comfortable and then spent
the days of his life after fighting
corresponding with various once
fierce men via letters
his head down and mostly silent.

he is remembered for “feeling
that the occupation continued
even after it was over.”

hunched over his desk he
never appeared with his family
and was filmed or photographed
alone and mainly in uniform
sometimes smiling but more often
looking slightly absent and bemused.

2009-05-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

2009-05-01T21:44:00.000-07:00

midnight on may first and I can
see my breath. I’m no

bumbling fool as I stand cooling
on the back stoop. There is cackling
laughter from around the corner
and just past the fence. I lurk

just under the porch roof
and don’t interrupt but
give a stern stony
and streetwise glance to
the right in case anyone
is watching and doesn’t
hear my dogs barking.

As I back up
through the house
a carlight glares
through the front window
then turns and sillouettes
the curb and I 'm frozen
wondering what can be
seen through my
huge front door

2009-04-14T15:53:00.000-07:00

2009-04-09T23:35:00.000-07:00

the trees are gathering ice
but not willingly.

their branches collect
the coronation of a
dense and weighty patina.

2009-04-09T23:16:00.000-07:00

sitting up late at night
eating my mother-law’s angel food cake

everyone asleep and it’s raining
lights out other than the kitchen

20 minutes ago
I lugged 30 pounds up the stairs
legs over my left elbow
and head in my right elbow

the water is heating in the kettle
and the house is the same
temperature inside as outside

dogs on the back stoop
watch the rain in the alley

I have forgotten to
shut the fridge door as I
sit waiting for the water to boil

2009-04-07T06:49:00.000-07:00

Poem

He looked at her from his sprawl on her bed
shoed feet easy and heavy over the edge
She was partially buttoned and half dressed
after her shower and he noticed how pretty
and slightly shy she was and recalled with a surprised
stretch that he had mouthed every hollow of her and
encompassed the curve of her ribs with his hand.
The other two in the room their friends
seemed reassured and relieved when he gathered her in
got under her long damp hair
and murmured hey baby what's for dinner
eat me for dinner she said startling and sweet from a
slightly bookish girl he was proud of himself for noticing but
suddenly worried that others would too. He remembered now
that she made him forget his secret awkwardness with
her frank kisses. As he breathed the air around her neck
he hoped his absence hadn’t spoiled anything
and that she didn’t have any unknown experience which
would uncover a layer of confidence under her ease
that would make him feel like a cool pretender. He started
to say in a low voice I love you but couldn’t remember if he’d said it to
her last time or even a minute ago. He wanted to remain huddled
and entangled under the cool and humid tent of her hair.

2009-04-03T14:53:00.000-07:00

2009-03-31T17:56:00.000-07:00