KATE & S O N I A(IN THE MONTHS B E FO R E O U R SECOND DAU G H-T E R ’ S B I R T H )

KATE & S O N I A(IN THE MONTHS B E FO R E O U R SECOND DAU G H-T E R ’ S B I R T H )

KATE & S O N I A(IN THE M ON T H S B E F O R E O U R S E C O N D D A U G H -T E R ’ S B I R T H )

Kate &

Sonia

Dan Thomas-Glass

( )in the months

before our second

daughter’s birth

Kate &

Sonia

Dan Thomas-Glass

( )in the months

before our second

daughter’s birth

Kate &

Sonia

Dan Thomas-Glass

( )in the months

before our second

daughter’s birth

© Dan Thomas-Glass 2011

little red leaves textile series

www.textileseries.com

© Dan Thomas-Glass 2011

little red leaves textile series

www.textileseries.com

© Dan Thomas-Glass 2011

little red leaves textile series

www.textileseries.com

1.

In front of the fence pushing

Sonia on the swing wants

to transfix a moment as it swirls

swirl in my head. Tress stretch up

in front of garden plots to

monuments of our brevity.

We could get on a list.

We should plant something.

Sonia insists on swinging

higher then twists

to see Kate turning toward

the trees toward us behind

the fence looking up—there

are clouds, in that sky.

1.

In front of the fence pushing

Sonia on the swing wants

to transfix a moment as it swirls

swirl in my head. Tress stretch up

in front of garden plots to

monuments of our brevity.

We could get on a list.

We should plant something.

Sonia insists on swinging

higher then twists

to see Kate turning toward

the trees toward us behind

the fence looking up—there

are clouds, in that sky.

1.

In front of the fence pushing

Sonia on the swing wants

to transfix a moment as it swirls

swirl in my head. Tress stretch up

in front of garden plots to

monuments of our brevity.

We could get on a list.

We should plant something.

Sonia insists on swinging

higher then twists

to see Kate turning toward

the trees toward us behind

the fence looking up—there

are clouds, in that sky.

2.

Sonia screams against the order

days insist on packing

into the stretch: minor

impossibilities like toes

arched up to generate

space straining to switch

the switch. This possible world

Sonia screams against. I

glance at Kate—where are

our options? To lift

or light? Shushing by

ref lex my arm motions

toward quiet.

2.

Sonia screams against the order

days insist on packing

into the stretch: minor

impossibilities like toes

arched up to generate

space straining to switch

the switch. This possible world

Sonia screams against. I

glance at Kate—where are

our options? To lift

or light? Shushing by

ref lex my arm motions

toward quiet.

2.

Sonia screams against the order

days insist on packing

into the stretch: minor

impossibilities like toes

arched up to generate

space straining to switch

the switch. This possible world

Sonia screams against. I

glance at Kate—where are

our options? To lift

or light? Shushing by

ref lex my arm motions

toward quiet.

3.

Kate, Sonia I wanted to write

a poem for you that a mother would write

an umbilical poem

joining us to us—

head against our

neck as tears dry.

Kate, Sonia the day gets so long—

here where I am not

there with you. Not

breath to breath or

infant body tucked

below our chin.

3.

Kate, Sonia I wanted to write

a poem for you that a mother would write

an umbilical poem

joining us to us—

head against our

neck as tears dry.

Kate, Sonia the day gets so long—

here where I am not

there with you. Not

breath to breath or

infant body tucked

below our chin.

3.

Kate, Sonia I wanted to write

a poem for you that a mother would write

an umbilical poem

joining us to us—

head against our

neck as tears dry.

Kate, Sonia the day gets so long—

here where I am not

there with you. Not

breath to breath or

infant body tucked

below our chin.

4.

There was never

incandescent in this

poem no Sonia

spinning knee crooked

to Charlotte Dada

never heated bright

as Kate’s laugh

there remembering there

was never hot

like what made

you Sonia in

a poem though

it pirouettes it

beams it burns.

4.

There was never

incandescent in this

poem no Sonia

spinning knee crooked

to Charlotte Dada

never heated bright

as Kate’s laugh

there remembering there

was never hot

like what made

you Sonia in

a poem though

it pirouettes it

beams it burns.

4.

There was never

incandescent in this

poem no Sonia

spinning knee crooked

to Charlotte Dada

never heated bright

as Kate’s laugh

there remembering there

was never hot

like what made

you Sonia in

a poem though

it pirouettes it

beams it burns.

5.

In the Tupperware inside

the closet the Tupperware

I took from an empty kitchen

(now it’s in the closet inside

our bedroom upstairs) to

pour a cup of my mom’s ashes

from official plastic urn to

Tupperware—inside that

Tupperware is a cup of my

mom’s ashes. We know that.

The burp that lets out the

inside. Or keeps it in maybe.

But that inside the closet

up the stairs inside the apartment

that inside the Tupperware is

my mom’s burnt body & she

was born in 1950 so of course

she had a body. Sonia there

5.

In the Tupperware inside

the closet the Tupperware

I took from an empty kitchen

(now it’s in the closet inside

our bedroom upstairs) to

pour a cup of my mom’s ashes

from official plastic urn to

Tupperware—inside that

Tupperware is a cup of my

mom’s ashes. We know that.

The burp that lets out the

inside. Or keeps it in maybe.

But that inside the closet

up the stairs inside the apartment

that inside the Tupperware is

my mom’s burnt body & she

was born in 1950 so of course

she had a body. Sonia there

5.

In the Tupperware inside

the closet the Tupperware

I took from an empty kitchen

(now it’s in the closet inside

our bedroom upstairs) to

pour a cup of my mom’s ashes

from official plastic urn to

Tupperware—inside that

Tupperware is a cup of my

mom’s ashes. We know that.

The burp that lets out the

inside. Or keeps it in maybe.

But that inside the closet

up the stairs inside the apartment

that inside the Tupperware is

my mom’s burnt body & she

was born in 1950 so of course

she had a body. Sonia there

was a world before plastic—

crazy, I know! like before air

or something— & in those

bodies before plastic my

mom was a body & I was

a body & you were there

too in Kate’s mom was Kate

& in Kate was you before

plastic inside the inside we

have been letting out in cups

& burps, us burnt too & here.

was a world before plastic—

crazy, I know! like before air

or something— & in those

bodies before plastic my

mom was a body & I was

a body & you were there

too in Kate’s mom was Kate

& in Kate was you before

plastic inside the inside we

have been letting out in cups

& burps, us burnt too & here.

was a world before plastic—

crazy, I know! like before air

or something— & in those

bodies before plastic my

mom was a body & I was

a body & you were there

too in Kate’s mom was Kate

& in Kate was you before

plastic inside the inside we

have been letting out in cups

& burps, us burnt too & here.

6.

Kate, Sonia I have

six minutes left before class

ends & these twelve-

year-olds stop writing

their two-page memoirs

about horses & grandparents.

Kate, Sonia I was

talking to Jesse in

the kitchen as Sonia

took her bath upstairs

around seven last

night about memory.

6.

Kate, Sonia I have

six minutes left before class

ends & these twelve-

year-olds stop writing

their two-page memoirs

about horses & grandparents.

Kate, Sonia I was

talking to Jesse in

the kitchen as Sonia

took her bath upstairs

around seven last

night about memory.

6.

Kate, Sonia I have

six minutes left before class

ends & these twelve-

year-olds stop writing

their two-page memoirs

about horses & grandparents.

Kate, Sonia I was

talking to Jesse in

the kitchen as Sonia

took her bath upstairs

around seven last

night about memory.

7.

There is a moment I will

insist on this is Sonia:

aquaform silhouette

cobra poses in bathwater

in mock protest this is

is—against Kate joining

her the liquid shadow that

once was a whole now ismemory, is this this.

7.

There is a moment I will

insist on this is Sonia:

aquaform silhouette

cobra poses in bathwater

in mock protest this is

is—against Kate joining

her the liquid shadow that

once was a whole now ismemory, is this this.

7.

There is a moment I will

insist on this is Sonia:

aquaform silhouette

cobra poses in bathwater

in mock protest this is

is—against Kate joining

her the liquid shadow that

once was a whole now ismemory, is this this.

8.

Sonia screams against the order

Target presses

into the press: buttons

for up light

up as we

prep to ascend.

Pick the plastic &

place it in the plastic

basket—one

with whistles—

this molded world

Sonia screams against. It’s

from China, Kate, like breathing.

8.

Sonia screams against the order

Target presses

into the press: buttons

for up light

up as we

prep to ascend.

Pick the plastic &

place it in the plastic

basket—one

with whistles—

this molded world

Sonia screams against. It’s

from China, Kate, like breathing.

8.

Sonia screams against the order

Target presses

into the press: buttons

for up light

up as we

prep to ascend.

Pick the plastic &

place it in the plastic

basket—one

with whistles—

this molded world

Sonia screams against. It’s

from China, Kate, like breathing.

9.

Half of the plastic produced,

Sonia, is used only once

before being discarded. Think packaging:

shampoo bottles,

disposable razors,

yogurt cups. Sonia you prefer vanilla

in your plastic cups. It sounds like

banilla. How many times

will you or your sister

use the plastic doll heads?

It f loats through us, Kate—

250 million tons each year,

4.7 million tons into the seas,

bobbing on the greens &

blues & grays &

twisting & then mired

in the dimmed tides

of what we recall.

9.

Half of the plastic produced,

Sonia, is used only once

before being discarded. Think packaging:

shampoo bottles,

disposable razors,

yogurt cups. Sonia you prefer vanilla

in your plastic cups. It sounds like

banilla. How many times

will you or your sister

use the plastic doll heads?

It f loats through us, Kate—

250 million tons each year,

4.7 million tons into the seas,

bobbing on the greens &

blues & grays &

twisting & then mired

in the dimmed tides

of what we recall.

9.

Half of the plastic produced,

Sonia, is used only once

before being discarded. Think packaging:

shampoo bottles,

disposable razors,

yogurt cups. Sonia you prefer vanilla

in your plastic cups. It sounds like

banilla. How many times

will you or your sister

use the plastic doll heads?

It f loats through us, Kate—

250 million tons each year,

4.7 million tons into the seas,

bobbing on the greens &

blues & grays &

twisting & then mired

in the dimmed tides

of what we recall.

10.

Mostly, Sonia, Kate, the plastic soup

consists of tiny fragments,

some the size of a fingernail (of your fingernail?),

some much smaller,

f loating on or below the surface

across thousands of kilometers.

After a birthday party in

a plastic banana

you got a tiny plastic bottle

of nail polish, some shiny

polymer. When you look

for it you say you want

your painting nails things.

It sounds like shings.

10.

Mostly, Sonia, Kate, the plastic soup

consists of tiny fragments,

some the size of a fingernail (of your fingernail?),

some much smaller,

f loating on or below the surface

across thousands of kilometers.

After a birthday party in

a plastic banana

you got a tiny plastic bottle

of nail polish, some shiny

polymer. When you look

for it you say you want

your painting nails things.

It sounds like shings.

10.

Mostly, Sonia, Kate, the plastic soup

consists of tiny fragments,

some the size of a fingernail (of your fingernail?),

some much smaller,

f loating on or below the surface

across thousands of kilometers.

After a birthday party in

a plastic banana

you got a tiny plastic bottle

of nail polish, some shiny

polymer. When you look

for it you say you want

your painting nails things.

It sounds like shings.

The gunk cannot be seen via satellite

making it hard for scientists to measure

or track the problem. It is

clearly visible from up close.

It’s kind of like chunky dust, hovering in the water.

You can see the change in the texture of the water.

The samples taken from the sea

in the middle of these gyres

are a glutinous-looking mess.

The gunk cannot be seen via satellite

making it hard for scientists to measure

or track the problem. It is

clearly visible from up close.

It’s kind of like chunky dust, hovering in the water.

You can see the change in the texture of the water.

The samples taken from the sea

in the middle of these gyres

are a glutinous-looking mess.

The gunk cannot be seen via satellite

making it hard for scientists to measure

or track the problem. It is

clearly visible from up close.

It’s kind of like chunky dust, hovering in the water.

You can see the change in the texture of the water.

The samples taken from the sea

in the middle of these gyres

are a glutinous-looking mess.

11.

There is not. It is quiet.

In the room the plastic house is orange, glowing orange.

Sonia says, “Daddy this pillow is not cold enough.”

It sounds like enush.

Daddy there is not. In the quiet.

In the room the plastic iPhone is blue, glowing blue.

Kate I feel guilty that as I watch our daughter fall asleep I

am thinking about tomorrow.

Kate I think Kenny & Erica in Bolinas have it right: the

wood stove, the loom.

Kate I am in the room & the orange & the blue; a widening

dark.

Sonia I am sorry for all this moment’s failures.

11.

There is not. It is quiet.

In the room the plastic house is orange, glowing orange.

Sonia says, “Daddy this pillow is not cold enough.”

It sounds like enush.

Daddy there is not. In the quiet.

In the room the plastic iPhone is blue, glowing blue.

Kate I feel guilty that as I watch our daughter fall asleep I

am thinking about tomorrow.

Kate I think Kenny & Erica in Bolinas have it right: the

wood stove, the loom.

Kate I am in the room & the orange & the blue; a widening

dark.

Sonia I am sorry for all this moment’s failures.

11.

There is not. It is quiet.

In the room the plastic house is orange, glowing orange.

Sonia says, “Daddy this pillow is not cold enough.”

It sounds like enush.

Daddy there is not. In the quiet.

In the room the plastic iPhone is blue, glowing blue.

Kate I feel guilty that as I watch our daughter fall asleep I

am thinking about tomorrow.

Kate I think Kenny & Erica in Bolinas have it right: the

wood stove, the loom.

Kate I am in the room & the orange & the blue; a widening

dark.

Sonia I am sorry for all this moment’s failures.

EPILOGU EEPILOGU EEPILOGU E

I should sing from heights:

Daughters of your century

what months & then what

weeks & then what days &

then what hours & minutes

will you count the closest

to your hearts? Which will

mold your pouring mettle?

Our modular hopes spark.

Let us wish: for the beach-

iest Sundays before burnt

skin draws us under, in the

shadow of redwood trees

a respite we conspire to

hold tight, in the shadow

of vowel shifts as language

invaded language on islands

in undiff erentiated moments

called history then particular

for individuals living it—Oh

I guess we are no diff erent, if

you ask sweet, little larks who

our planet—this I that speaks

will see only some small part

of those long years. My dears

I sing to wish for you—may

you remember your mother

Kate’s eyes as she stared out

at the ocean—green against

green. May you remember

that whatever way it is it was

not always so—& need not

remain. On the islands our

memories sift for us: noises

become words or melody

become the sounds you

make falling to dreams.

Language spares us only

bits: darting note to notes

as birds lilt then settle dust-

ed by the passing light. Oh I

suppose the days meander

back & forth like the long

sights the stars cast at our

I should sing from heights:

Daughters of your century

what months & then what

weeks & then what days &

then what hours & minutes

will you count the closest

to your hearts? Which will

mold your pouring mettle?

Our modular hopes spark.

Let us wish: for the beach-

iest Sundays before burnt

skin draws us under, in the

shadow of redwood trees

a respite we conspire to

hold tight, in the shadow

of vowel shifts as language

invaded language on islands

in undiff erentiated moments

called history then particular

for individuals living it—Oh

I guess we are no diff erent, if

you ask sweet, little larks who

our planet—this I that speaks

will see only some small part

of those long years. My dears

I sing to wish for you—may

you remember your mother

Kate’s eyes as she stared out

at the ocean—green against

green. May you remember

that whatever way it is it was

not always so—& need not

remain. On the islands our

memories sift for us: noises

become words or melody

become the sounds you

make falling to dreams.

Language spares us only

bits: darting note to notes

as birds lilt then settle dust-

ed by the passing light. Oh I

suppose the days meander

back & forth like the long

sights the stars cast at our

I should sing from heights:

Daughters of your century

what months & then what

weeks & then what days &

then what hours & minutes

will you count the closest

to your hearts? Which will

mold your pouring mettle?

Our modular hopes spark.

Let us wish: for the beach-

iest Sundays before burnt

skin draws us under, in the

shadow of redwood trees

a respite we conspire to

hold tight, in the shadow

of vowel shifts as language

invaded language on islands

in undiff erentiated moments

called history then particular

for individuals living it—Oh

I guess we are no diff erent, if

you ask sweet, little larks who

our planet—this I that speaks

will see only some small part

of those long years. My dears

I sing to wish for you—may

you remember your mother

Kate’s eyes as she stared out

at the ocean—green against

green. May you remember

that whatever way it is it was

not always so—& need not

remain. On the islands our

memories sift for us: noises

become words or melody

become the sounds you

make falling to dreams.

Language spares us only

bits: darting note to notes

as birds lilt then settle dust-

ed by the passing light. Oh I

suppose the days meander

back & forth like the long

sights the stars cast at our

fl it from branch to branch as

evening deepens. Daughters

of your century what sunsets,

what current patterns, what

tides, what plastic dust, what

fi rsts, what fi nals, what fi res,

what birds turning sharp into

the purple & the early stars

so eager to be remembered?

What wars, what economies?

My daughters—Sonia, your

sister whose name we don’t

know yet—I suck inward at

the thought I might not be

there to help. My daughters:

I suck inward at the thought

I might not be there to see.

Daughters of your century

I will know only part. I that

should sing from some tall

peaks, this I that stares now

at industrial carpets in one

of the richest counties on

heads on those rare nights

when, still waking, we slim

our tomorrows into lists. I

suppose it is so, daughters

of your century, & this I I

suppose I am seeks means

to touch minds as wonder

overtakes, that wonder of

thought gone memory or

how you will reach words

we left behind in scripted

hours, misusing the now I

suspect of forcing a self on

now— a self I suspect isn’t

all that I might be, though

daughters of your century

I accept this I as an I I am,

as I said, & part of the now

& also part of each of you,

in your eyes & gestures &

in these words as they fall

to memory, our beasts &

bodies singing faintly lit.

fl it from branch to branch as

evening deepens. Daughters

of your century what sunsets,

what current patterns, what

tides, what plastic dust, what

fi rsts, what fi nals, what fi res,

what birds turning sharp into

the purple & the early stars

so eager to be remembered?

What wars, what economies?

My daughters—Sonia, your

sister whose name we don’t

know yet—I suck inward at

the thought I might not be

there to help. My daughters:

I suck inward at the thought

I might not be there to see.

Daughters of your century

I will know only part. I that

should sing from some tall

peaks, this I that stares now

at industrial carpets in one

of the richest counties on

heads on those rare nights

when, still waking, we slim

our tomorrows into lists. I

suppose it is so, daughters

of your century, & this I I

suppose I am seeks means

to touch minds as wonder

overtakes, that wonder of

thought gone memory or

how you will reach words

we left behind in scripted

hours, misusing the now I

suspect of forcing a self on

now— a self I suspect isn’t

all that I might be, though

daughters of your century

I accept this I as an I I am,

as I said, & part of the now

& also part of each of you,

in your eyes & gestures &

in these words as they fall

to memory, our beasts &

bodies singing faintly lit.

fl it from branch to branch as

evening deepens. Daughters

of your century what sunsets,

what current patterns, what

tides, what plastic dust, what

fi rsts, what fi nals, what fi res,

what birds turning sharp into

the purple & the early stars

so eager to be remembered?

What wars, what economies?

My daughters—Sonia, your

sister whose name we don’t

know yet—I suck inward at

the thought I might not be

there to help. My daughters:

I suck inward at the thought

I might not be there to see.

Daughters of your century

I will know only part. I that

should sing from some tall

peaks, this I that stares now

at industrial carpets in one

of the richest counties on

heads on those rare nights

when, still waking, we slim

our tomorrows into lists. I

suppose it is so, daughters

of your century, & this I I

suppose I am seeks means

to touch minds as wonder

overtakes, that wonder of

thought gone memory or

how you will reach words

we left behind in scripted

hours, misusing the now I

suspect of forcing a self on

now— a self I suspect isn’t

all that I might be, though

daughters of your century

I accept this I as an I I am,

as I said, & part of the now

& also part of each of you,

in your eyes & gestures &

in these words as they fall

to memory, our beasts &

bodies singing faintly lit.

Dan Thomas-Glass wrote these poems in the spring and summer of 2011. He lives in Albany, CA with his wife Kate and their daughters Sonia and Alma (born 9/21/11). He is the editor of With + Stand and the author of 880 (Deep Oakland Editions), Seaming (Furniture Press), and The Great American Beatjack Volume I, which will be published by Dana Ward in 2012.

This LRL textile edition was lovingly sewn with recycled bedsheets and fancy paper.

Dan Thomas-Glass wrote these poems in the spring and summer of 2011. He lives in Albany, CA with his wife Kate and their daughters Sonia and Alma (born 9/21/11). He is the editor of With + Stand and the author of 880 (Deep Oakland Editions), Seaming (Furniture Press), and The Great American Beatjack Volume I, which will be published by Dana Ward in 2012.

This LRL textile edition was lovingly sewn with recycled bedsheets and fancy paper.

Dan Thomas-Glass wrote these poems in the spring and summer of 2011. He lives in Albany, CA with his wife Kate and their daughters Sonia and Alma (born 9/21/11). He is the editor of With + Stand and the author of 880 (Deep Oakland Editions), Seaming (Furniture Press), and The Great American Beatjack Volume I, which will be published by Dana Ward in 2012.

This LR L textile edition was lovingly sewn with recycled bedsheets and fancy paper.