KELLY DuMAR
THE TROUBLE OF US
My mother must have wanted us
by accident
to trust our luck on ponds
Of her own free will
she took the trouble of us
buckled in boots
down her long driveway of dirt
crossing the cow pasture
she hiked her tribe over hard
humps of snow-free field –
She must have wanted
a body of cold not to crack
but hold us – without sacrificing
even one to catastrophe
on untended ice, flawless and ours
alone to ruin
Kneeling on dry weeds, crushed –
her raw un-mittened fingers
wrenching off our rubber boots
pushing so many socked feet
into rigid skates, her fingers
stinging as if we'd bitten
She kept lacing up and lacing –
swore a little – under our wool
socks, snow suits (her hand-knit mittens)
we felt so much
frost needled aching we whined
stumbled, shouted – our trim legs
rubbered with strain, skin gooed with sweat
under layers, faces
hot pinked with chill, skating ‘til we couldn't
feel any organ of our over-heated
bodies, my mother must have wanted us
giddy, winging, weightless –
for hours, hours until dusk
\ ' fä- t͟hər \
a noun, great wave
surging mass, a verb, he rolls in
puffs us up, as by wind
date of birth: his was
raw, a gust, like today –
Sun will rise: Sun will set:
trees will blow leafless
on top of Pine Hill – look
a big enough hole
we opened,
we emptied
his ashes then, out
from under his cloud – children
grown from his weather – we sink
boots, into earth, churned
creamy with rain, here is thunder
and crack, like it’s a command –
rise roil scatter
Kelly DuMar is a poet, playwright and workshop facilitator from Boston. She’s author of two poetry chapbooks, All These Cures (Lit House Press) and Tree of the Apple (Two of Cups Press). Her poems, prose and photos are published in Bellevue Literary Review, Tupelo Quarterly, Crab Fat, Storm Cellar, Corium, and many more.