Screeching in the morning Crying in the night Chirping, contented sounds humming in the light For years and years My brain is busting Figuring if they are hurt or fussing Filter, filter Sift and scan Screening senses on command Counting, listening Keeping track Making sure I don't slack In one second In one breath Everything can shift to death.Esther Gay-Primel 05/15/2010
When I wrote this poem, my sister Melodye laughed at me! How dare she! No really, unless your brain has been in full-blown parenting mode for decades, there is no way you could relate.
Last Friday was a nightmare day for me. It began normally enough. A trip to the optometrist, followed by a short jaunt into a bargain store. Levi and Benjamin were my companions. Levi bought a half-sized football that his little brother held the whole way home.
As we got out of the van, Levi said he would play football with Benjamin and I was to go ahead inside. So in I went, carrying a few groceries, quickly surveying the kitchen, I began to put items into the dishwasher. About 20 minutes later, Levi came upstairs. I asked, “where is Benjamin?” He said,” with you, he followed you in.” So we had a frantic search time. As we decided quickly he was not in the house, we went outside. One of Ray’s friends was pulling in. He asked us if we were missing something. When he opened the back door, out came Benjamin, holding his football.
So, Melodye, you just go ahead and laugh. Meanwhile, I will sift and scan. Because sometimes, it does lead to death. And I would feel so responsible.