Lagumbay.com Reflections on Love, Rage, and Fear

Logging people on,
handing out headphones to kids,
hanging out with Sue

A magic school bus,
an outdated Encarta,
Barney is Evil

Can I have more time?
Excuse me, miss, I can’t hear.
My thing is broken.

You don’t have no books
on Ancient Egypt, he asked.
I would have said “Yes”

The science projects,
the California Missions,
What is the state bird?

Restraint and patience –
admirable virtues from
someone with good aim

If indeed ’tis true
that children are our future,
when’s Armageddon?

Hey! Pass me the glue –
sticks and paper come alive
as if by magic

Being Grandma Sue,
she held Pierre in her arms
dressed like a pirate

Enjoy retirement
This place will not be the same.
Thanks for everything

He must have died a while ago, I thought,
like many others who just disappeared in a flash of brilliance.
We don’t call him by name anymore and sometimes
Eberlin sounds a lot like him and I get confused.
He grew up, maybe, and got tired of the rest of us,
moved on to someplace I don’t know.
Maybe he ended up in the witness protection program or something.

He was an old friend from the early IRC days –
wild-eyed and opinionated. He never did say much, though,
expressing more interest in any scripting language
he could get his hands on. He had potential –
and I’m sure he would have absolutely hated
to hear me say something like that.
Evil genius meets teenage angst…
I could have sworn that was someone else I know
but I could be wrong.

I haven’t seen Silence in a long long time.
If you see him, say hi.

I wish you could have seen me play –
seen me transform into something I’m not
like a werewolf on a full moon.
I wish you could have seen the momentary triumphs and defeats
but most of all the competitive instinct, determination and pride.
The goals, the assists, and the subdued celebrations that followed –
a subtle sign of respect for the other side

I wish you could have seen me make mistakes,
seen me get burned, seen me fall down, seen me get hurt.
I wish you could have seen me get back up each time.
You see, there is a raw resilience I have not displayed anywhere else –
something primal that simultaneously calls for my best and my worst.
I could not expect you to understand
but I do wish you could have seen me play.

My cats don’t know it’s Christmas time
and I don’t think they care
but Easter knows it’s getting colder
and we have warmth to spare.

Rebecca goes through a routine,
one that she often does:
A friendly bump to say hello,
then back to cleaning paws.

My cats don’t know it’s Christmas time
and they don’t seem to mind
the subtle sentimental mood
which they return in kind.