Sharing Spaces

I was thinking this morning how things have changed for children in today's society.
When did the notion start that kids had to have their own rooms? This certainly is far from what exists in many other countries and also in many parts of our own. But nevertheless, it seems as though it's just expected that in these days parents who can afford to buy a home, look for one with as many bedrooms as their number of children.

I remember growing up having to share my bed with my sisters . . . let alone my room, which wasn't MY room anyway, but ours! My two brothers shared a room too. We were five kids and two parents . . . and one bathroom. When I think of it! The line outside the door sometimes grew very loud with hurry ups and threats, some of which I won't mention. Getting ready for school and taking care of personal needs while someone else is banging on the door presented its own set of challenges, while trying to find your own clothes in a closet shared by three girls was yet another. I'm not talking about a walk-in either! I'm thinking that these circumstances might have been a reason for kids leaving home much earlier than they do today.

When I got married and we began our family, the same numbers were replicated . . . five kids and two parents. The first thing we did when we moved into our four bedroom home was add another full bathroom and we even had a half bath extra to boot. Our three girls were still small at that time, but I wasn't waiting. My memories of teenage years pushed me to get ready for that primal female energy to resurface once again when my own daughters became teens. And god, did it ever!!! Still, they had to share one bedroom for a long time. When our oldest girl's asthma became really troublesome, we moved her into her own room. Yet, there were many nights we'd find her sisters and brothers with blankets and pillows, sleeping on her bedroom floor! I guess there remains a special comfort on stormy nights for children to snuggle up together and feel safe. Pillows and fluffy blankets shared seem to always calm the soul.

But as time goes on, things change, needs change and we all get caught up in one way or another to strive for bigger and better things. It stands to reason that the more we own, the more space we need and that seems to be one of the problems. The need for privacy and independence is another. But how much and how soon? I guess there is a certain status we unconsciously or consciously aspire to in this world where achievement is honored . . . and expected. I just wonder why for so many it has to begin so early in life, when childhood only lasts for just a moment and I wonder too . . . just how much better off as a people we really are.

The Clothesline

I wrote this poem one windy autumn day
20 years ago, when I still used clothespins!
Perhaps it will stir some of your own fond memories . . .

The Clothesline

From my window
it’s a comical sight, even musical
the way the wind plays posie
with my wardrobe hanging there.
Today, shirtsleeves wave to me
and flutter high and low
now and then
when wind swirls toss the trees
appearing
to be raising arms in unison
like graceful rows of Muslims
praising God . . .
they make their bows to Allah.

A merry sight, this autumn day
despite the fact that
folding clothes
will occupy my time tonight.
I still find viewing them delightful.
Never mind
that I’ll be picking bits of leaves
and twigs
from playful sweaters
woolen socks and sheets.

It’s sweet nostalgia
come to visit me today
bringing me to Brooklyn streets
and brownstones with their backyard lines
childhood thoughts of neighbors
hanging wash
tattle tales and peekaboos
hung dripping on the line.
Minny’s see-through underwear
and Bobby’s holey socks
Alice wears a bra now . . .
and you don’t!

Soon the winds will grow too cold
for hanging clothes
but still . . .
I might just do it one day, anyhow
just to see
the frozen stiffs come off the line
remembering
the laughter in our kitchen then
when Mother pulled them one by one
hard and cold
through the window . . .
clothesbodies
waiting to lie down
on toasty radiators
and dream away defrosting.
And I waiting too
to sniff the crisp winter’s air
that floated through that place
filling little heads with happy memories
times too easily forgotten
in a world gone electric.

Joanne Cucinello
1988

Blessed

I dreamt I sat at the edge of time
holding my five babies
in my arms
asleep across my breast ~
as the full and fertile moon
covered them with blessed light
and my whole being came ablaze
with wonder at how God
could have loved me so.

And I awoke knowing I have been
truly blessed and gifted ~
because the babes I yearned for
in my simple youth ~
the prayer I whispered
in my heart of hearts
was granted ~
as one by one
each sweet wonder grew
within my womb.

There never has and never will be ~
a greater gift than that bestowed on Woman
the gift to bring forth life
not just for propagation's sake
but for that which encompasses
the heart-love yearning
the hope and salvation of humankind
and I ~ who once was barren,
have seen the wonders of this universe unfold
each time I gaze into those globes of light~
my precious children's eyes.


Joanne Cucinello

I Remember You

“I saved these just for you” she said.
“I knew you’d come one day to find them.”
Bending to her bureau drawer,
the moonlight swept across her face
and there ‘neath tattered wings I saw
a form familiar.

She picked up bits of ivory
with her musing fingertips
worn now from the years.
A smile, soft and lovely,
graced her frail and shallow face
and flash-backs
just like shreds of lightening ~ flooded me.

“It was you, wasn’t it?" I gasped.
“All the while it was you
tiptoeing past my bed
like a thief who’d stolen jewels.
I thought that I was dreaming,
swore I saw those wings . . .
yes, and that fairy scent you always wore.
You lived with us back then, Grandma,
and all the while
I thought that thief was Mom!”

She bid me, “Close your eyes
and open up your hand.”
and as if I were standing small again
I anxiously obeyed.
Then she dropped them,
my tiny ivory baby teeth
saved since childhood
toppled in the center of my palm,
treasures, jewels she said ~ her memories.

And there we lay that evening
recalling heart-soaked lullabies
rocking in the dark
till all the breath of all the years
dissolved into my arms
and the long cord of Grandma's love
~wrapped my heart with gold.


Joanne Cucinello 2007

Judy Garland - Somewhere Over The Rainbow

I wish every child could feel what I feel . . . every time I hear Judy sing this song!

It's Not Okay!

"Okay" is a friendly little word kids love to use. It quiets Mom and Dad down real quick sometimes and that's probably the first thing they learn about this useful word tool. It can also be posed as a question asking for approval, as in: "Mommy, I'm just gonna give the puppy a haircut. He's too hot. I'll bring the scissors right back. Okay?" When the little Barber of Seville's request is denied and the screaming tantrum is over, it can be heard in its long drawn out form of resignation: "O . . .kay!" Often, this word is used to preface a leadership activity and can be heard if you listen out the back window when one of your kids has decided to take charge, like: "Okay, Lucy, now you go first. Taste the mudpie and make pretend it's yummy!" If your little Politician In The Making gets Lucy not to spit at her and run away, she will have realized the power of her words. If not, she will learn that she'd better brush up on her manipulation skills if she wants to run for office 40 years from now.
Reality bites when your child's actions start evoking the dreaded parental "No! It's NOT okay!" These words will be uttered often for at least 16 years or so depending on each individual child's attempts to transgress and bring shame to the family name. Hopefully, by the time your teenager is ready to become human once more, he or she will be familiar also with the proud and joyful use of the affirmative O-KAY!! . . . its highest form of approval that goes along with wonderful achievements and positive decision making choices, the ones that give a thumbs up and the long happy sigh of relief for a job well done!

Daddy's Girl Remembers

My Dad passed on in 1994, a few days before his 80th Birthday. His car was hit by a drunk driver and his life was over in an instant. I wrote this poem for him one Father's Day many years before and I'm so glad he really felt what I was saying and still longed for even though I was a young mother with five kids of my own by then.
He called me on the phone a few days later and asked if I'd like to take a long walk with him! I said yes, of course, but only on one condition: that neither of us would talk about our kids (he had two new ones from his second marraige)we'd just talk like we used to . . . just for this one time . . . about us, how we'd grown and were still learning to live. And . . . I added one more thing: "Can you put your arm around my shoulder, like you used to?" Guess what? He did it all! How blessed I was to have him.

I Will Always Love You, Dad

There's a little girl inside my heart
who still on Father's Day
is taken back to years ago
when both of us would play
a game of "who's my special girl?"
and "who's my daddy dear?"
I'd ride upon your shoulders high
and never have a fear.

Sometimes we'd walk for hours it seemed
around the reservoir
Forest Park or Highland . . .
we never traveled far.
But you were always there for me
when my young heart needed love
and someone who would listen
when the going got too rough.

And yes, it did get rough at times
as only you would know
but gosh, you were a trouper
and how I loved you so!
Although I'm not that little girl,
at least not on the outside,
there's still a little part of me
that somehow I just can't hide.

It's that part that's still your daughter
and though I've changed and grown,
the years that I did live with you
were the happiest I've known.
You really made me special
and gave me so much love
I'd like to give it back to you
but that wouldn't be enough.

I still need time to share with you
the person I am now,
the things I feel, the dreams I have
this space just won't allow.
You'll always be my father, yes,
but time is passing by.
So many things we haven't said,
there's times I want to cry.
I really miss you Daddy,
so much I want to say.
I'll have to make a date with you
and talk the night away.

Do you think that we can do it?
Do we need a reservoir?
Or will a cup of coffee do?
I really don't live far.

Joanne Cucinello . . . a long time ago.