37?

I have been sitting here, staring at the screen with the words ‘the daily hogan 37’ staring back like some kind of challenge. This is my husband’s favorite number, you see, so I can’t let it go by without some sort of tribute to him. When Judd and I first met I was inspired to write more poetry, so I thought I should share a poem from then, but reading back through them I am struck by how cheesy I sound! And now when I sit down to write a poem I can’t think beyond a poopy diaper and little arms encircling my neck. I guess the cheese never really goes away. But since I have the books open and I am in the sharing mood, I will pass along a poem I wrote around that time.


October, 2002

sometimes I imagine my
life as a whole visited
through fragmented memories
stirred to tears by
images collected and
indexed photo albums
stuck to shelves covered
with dust-- and I in a
determined fit of “I
need to organize this
house before I go crazy”
find myself cross legged
in front of the open
closet door pawing through
pages labeled “first steps”
and “San Diego 2004”
group shots family
vacations significant events
school pictures buck
teeth bad perms goofy
grins you caught sleeping
with your mouth open
halloween costumes
animals in hats
all bringing to my
lap the blink of
a moment past
so much behind
each bright color
that day we spent
hours chasing
and the heat you
would not believe
the mosquitoes the
heavy smells hanging
in the air like
sleep-- how proud we
were how we
laughed how she
whined for hours
the look in his eye
as he gently carried
you up the stairs
the look mirrored in
my father’s eyes as
we swung in our
matching plaid flannel
pajamas my fingers
clutching his-- somehow
the same fingers
although the cells have
since replaced themselves
a thousand times over--
that now linger absently
caressing the outline
of my father’s face
young and hopeful sparkling
blue eyes shine through
black and white
and now you--
sending me more
I diligently add to a
new album I’ve
put together just
for her- this new
breath I don’t see
often enough but
when I do I tease
you for your worrying,
spoil your carefully
researched discipline
and blame the onions.