Little Girl Rageth

August 13, 2008

It’s dark now when you get up at 2:30 or 3 am.
Some hope perhaps for seeing the Perseid meteor shower.
Though Matteo has soundly rejected sleeping out with me
earlier in the summer. One of many indignities
of this season. Don’t even begin on rain.
Or average temperature. I have been known to wear
long underwear in July on 40 degree rainy days.

I was watching movies last week when I had
the middle of the night Annika shift last week.
This week even that effort seems impossible to mount.
I just rock her in the chair, she sleeps, eventually
I sleep until my own muscles pry me awake
with their screaming.

The Northern Center is looking for a director.
Again. David van den Berg left a month ago.
I was a finalist for the job last time, in 05.
Not that it would have worked, with Matteo months old.
I couldn’t imagine applying this time.

What kids will do to you. Or, what happens to your
self esteem when you’re main job is something
you don’t know how to do. And you face your inadequacies
every hour of every day. Does anyone know
how to raise kids? I used to read the books.
Get ideas. Who has time with kid #2?

It’s remarkable to even write a little.
I can’t get to emails anymore, it takes time, hours.
Two blocks of ten minutes to rub together
is a miracle, now. People tell me that it’s temporary.
I listen politely. It’s somehow impossible to believe
that there will be a second act.
Swallowed by Fairbanks, by life.

Annika woke early, three minutes ago.
I gave her a pacifier, turned on music,
put together her mobile, and I’m watching,
panicking, as the fuse burns down.
The explosion is immanent.
Matteo is on Sesame Street. He’s good
for another 40 minutes.

Ka-Boom. Little girl rageth.