Marathon

My life will always be an unfinished story ~ a song with no refrain.

I’m a sprinter in the race, tiring before the finish line

always giving birth to something new . . . and fickle as the wind.

I’m like the Bag Lady, pushing her cart down the street

only mine is full of paper scraps ~ poems and fairytales, unfinished

memoirs and writings I’ve promised to publish . . . someday.

I’ve always found a way to excuse myself from writing a novel.

It takes too long ~ my life has too many distractions ~ I don’t live alone!

I’ve probably started at least fifteen novels, some of which turned into short

stories, most of which became my . . . poems.

But then, here’s the non-fiction part of my life, and there’s no Bag Lady to be found.

It’s Motherhood, and I couldn’t find a pushcart big enough to hold five kids!

Giving birth was the easy part.  Labor, with all its pain and fear of death

was a piece of cake compared to raising these “bright ideas” and realizing what’s true.

You can’t sprint through life when it comes to mothering a child . . . since you’ve

already signed on for a Marathon!

Joanne Cucinello © 2016

It Takes a Lifetime

Move over soon ~ the young need space to grow.

It’s getting time to pass the torch . . .

And you must pass it on, don’t worry . . . you just

have to let go!  And when you do . . . go find your way

to the top of a hill. Stand there and look out far. 

See how your one life has blessed the earth,

this beautiful earth that has been your home.

Sing your song to the wind ~ let it fly wild once more.

Touch the earth with your hands and feel the pulse

of the soft mother under foot.  This has been your time.

In the span of creation, what footprints will you leave?

How many paths have you carved through the mountain

of struggle?  How many trees have you marked so that others

might find their way?

Then come down and walk on the stones you have laid.

Tell your stories and the things you have learned. 

Tell of the Great Spirit who lit your way so many times

through the dark nights, till you finally opened your eyes.

Tell the Young Ones of hope, and the journey, and not to despair

for it truly does take a lifetime to make a human heart.

Joanne Cucinello© 2016

Morning’s Here ~ and So Am I

I'm so attached to this world

to the flesh and the stones

all around me ~ things that make me

feel safe.

My grip has always been strong 

even though, as I write now,

“change” is slipping through my fingers ~

and there's no way to stop it.

All that used to be familiar is changing

morphing into forms that are 

hard for me to recognize ~ 

but I'm trying.

I tend to blame the mirror some nights

so I wait for the shifting light that seems

kinder at dawn . . . and hold my breath

as the sun begins to rise with the truth.

But, hey . . . it’s really okay.  Life is "change".

It has to be, and the ride’s been amazing.

Just makes me wonder when I’ll be

brave enough to open my hands ~ and let go.

Joanne 8/30/16

The Finger of God

So what are we to make

of all this devastation?

Children crushed beneath debris

homes like piles of Pick Up Sticks

empty picture frames and broken glass

everywhere . . . remnants of memories

gone forever. There is pain, there is fear

there is such great suffering.

This ominous funnel, the Finger of God,

dark, swirling, pointing, making ready

to ravish some doomed earthlings

for this cynical game.

What are the rules of engagement anyway

for Mother Nature and her Associates?

Are we chosen on the map, or do they toss the dice

and let it land wherever . . . just for fun?

No one knows, not even the so called "righteous"

who claim to have the inside scoop.

They seem to think they know who’s going up . . .

and who'll be going down,

I say beware of thoughts like that . . .

Many are struck dead by Presumption!

We believe that if we're good

and obey the rules, somehow we'll

be spared and that Finger will not find us

but the truth is . . . some are lucky, some are not

and good doesn't matter, where fate is concerned.

Some of us are made stronger and more human

by disasters, though they bare our bones

and tear our hearts.

We turn to help the bleeding, we turn to search

for answers, but all will turn to dust one day,

and this is our conundrum.                                     

 Joanne Cucinello  2013

Loneliness of a Young Mother ( A Memoir )

It's a very real fact that many young mothers experience deep periods of loneliness and feelings of isolation. It seems to begin soon after delivery. The excitement of bringing a child into the world, the feelings of wonder and pride, the combined exhaustion and elation of childbirth . . . all fleeting, as reality slips in and baby comes home . . . for the rest of your life.
I remember the apprehensive feelings that came over me after childbirth. Here was my first baby at last in my arms, our child with the whole world out there in front of her and totally dependent on ME . . . to keep her alive right now! I would have dreams that I lost her and would find her days later, starving and near death or I'd dream that I forgot I had a baby and weeks later remember . . . just in time, before she withered away.
Other feelings were flooding me with sadness too at this time when I felt I should be so happy. The first nights without her in my belly strangely brought on waves of melancholy. I was just me again, after 9 months of being and feeling "we". Loneliness engulfed me. I could swear I felt her moving still inside me when I slept, as if she left her little ghost behind and I missed wrapping my arms around my baby belly.
My body took care of her while I was pregnant and protected my baby from the world outside, but now things would be different. Doubt and misgivings were threatening to make me feel unworthy of my new rank and title . . . Mother.
I remember coming home from the hospital in the car with my sleeping little Cherub. As my husband pulled up the driveway, I looked at our front door and let out a deep sigh thinking ~ "Now we'll be a family". I had told my mother-in-law that "No thanks, I won't be needing you to stay with us right now. We need time to bond . . . just the three of us." (a statement I would live to regret). I was now Donna Reed and we were both in love with our new baby girl. Everything would be perfect. After all, the nurse at the hospital assured me that newborns sleep for almost 18 hours a day! LIAR!! We walked into our quiet little lovenest and I laid my little sleepyhead in her cradle thinking, well, let's see, she was just fed and changed a half hour ago before we left the hospital. The nurse said "She'll probably wake up hungry in about 3 hours . . . don't worry, she'll let you know." I have never trusted a nurse again!
My coat was barely off when she started screaming . . . and screaming . . . and screaming! What could be wrong? Could she be wet? Check! Nope! Screaming louder now. She can't be hungry, she just ate! My husband said "Look at her, she's starving! Do something . . . QUICK!" Okay, okay,I thought. Calm down, she's an Italian baby, of course she's hungry! This response was the beginning of my bout with cracked nipples.
Three days later, when I came to realize that I was going to DIE . . . I sheepishly called my unappreciated mother-in-law in desperation, pouring my heart out. She was on the train that afternoon and knocking on my door with her suitcase in one hand and a burping cloth in the other. This was a stellar moment in my life; Mary Poppins was closing her umbrella and marching through the door. "What about the bonding?" she asked with a smile. And I said "To hell with the bonding! Thank God you're here!" Little did that sweet Lady know, she'd become my Mary Poppins four more times over the next seven years! My own mother had passed away long before and I felt stranded and alone out in the boondocks of budding Long Island.
Elvira became a lifeline for me as the years went by, my confidant, my helper . . . the mother and grandmother my family came to cherish. After her retirement, she lived with us till she was 93. Elvira was Mom in every way I could have hoped for and her love is legend still to all our family.
She was family and she helped heal the loneliness of a young mother named

Joanne. 

Dreams

My dreams are seeping and

weaving into daytime

haunting places so real they test my sanity.

I can't remember if they were once

a part of my conscious life

or some fantasy landscape I've created

repeating itself over and over

behind my lids as I sleep and dream.

There is a place so familiar

a place that returns again and again

where I swim unafraid and calm

in green murky waters

aware that reeds and seaweed

are reaching up from the bottom

swirling around me as I swim

Strangely, I'm not afraid

I just keep swimming in that

dark green water towards the other

side without struggle or fear . . . even though

I never seem to get there.

What are dreams?

What are we to learn from them?

I often wonder, as so many have,

which is reality . . . this life I'm living, or my dreams?

Perhaps both . . . perhaps they are one.

I still wonder; am I making another life for myself?

Or are the bits and pieces of my days

painting the palate of my brain

trying to make some connection at night

with that wild spirit bound in chains

the deeper meaning of my life

hoping to form a bridge to the other side?

Joanne Cucinello   

My Credo

I believe in the power of the written word and that writing is revelation and no matter how well you think you know a person... a part of them lies hidden or dormant most of the time and is only revealed when pen touches paper and hand reveals the heart. I love discovering hearts!! 

I believe in true love and soul mates and journeys through lifetimes intertwined.  I know I've found mine!

I believe that there's more to us than flesh and bone and that somehow, someway our spirits will go on forever. 

I believe in my five children and their unabashed honesty, their creativity and amazing talents. No matter what I'll ever achieve in life, bringing them into this world is the greatest thing I've ever done. 

And yes, I believe in a loving God who knows my name and will take me home some day.

Life has carved its colors on my soul through sad times and glad times and given me my rainbow to live with... 

So Familiar Now

I lie beside you every night so blessed

that I am not alone here in this bed,

that you and I still have each other.

I've come to know the sounds

of your sleeping body

your soft breathing

the shifting of your legs

beneath the sheets

as you turn again to face me

and touch my skin,

your nightly reassurance that

I'm still here.

We are lovers growing old

so familiar now with every hair

and every look that passes

back and forth throughout the day.

At times we read each other's mind

so clearly that I wonder

if we've melded into one new life form

but no . . . we are really just

so familiar.

Joanne Cucinello