Category Archives: relationships

Let Us Remember


More natural disasters have come since the huge earthquake in Japan, so this poem could also apply, for example, to those in Joplin, Missouri, who suffered a huge tornado last week that wiped out most of their city  (50,000 people), winds over 200 mph and many dead, wounded, or missing. Their Medical Center looks like a bomb hit it. So this poem below is for them too. On this Memorial weekend of remembering soldiers (and their families) who sacrificed, let us remember all the lost. And do what we can. We are all connected.

4/14/11

Remember Japan

post-earthquake

Now is the time to help
those who have been forgotten
whose earth swallowed
their homes and
whose sea washed their bodies away

And now who are off the front page
out of public consciousness
reduced to silence except for
radiation upgrades and occasional aftershocks
and back page human interest

Yet starving in masses, scanning rubble
that had been neighborhoods for anything familiar
Painful to imagine
But the stories, if any, buried where
few might read and be moved to action

Now is the time to help
put out a hand, a prayer, a dollar, a kindness
Anything…
Everything matters
to those who have nothing

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

On Being a Mother and a Daughter

Expressing the essence of being a mother, a line often comes to mind from my poem, “After You Left” in Letting Go and New Beginnings  (For entire poem see post 37 on 3-29-11 )

“Constantly
I am watching out for you.
Even when I am not watching,
I am watching.”

“Even when I am not watching, I am watching…” Even when I need my own life, I gather my “chicks” now grown, under my wing. I can’t help it. Even if I struggle for balance and need to take better care of myself, if they need me, I want to be there for them.

What is the most important thing we want to teach our children? How do we free them to go out and live their lives fully? How do we transition to a more adult level relationship with our offspring, the foundation for the rest of our lives? How clearly can our children ever see us as real people?

Here is another poem about being a mother.

1/19/03

Upon Returning Home

From birth
letting go

and letting go,
letting go.

If I have taught you anything
let it be this:

kindness.
Striving, yes

but be generous.
I let you go

and heal from the wound
and then you return

as promised
and gradually I adjust

and trust.
Then you leave

as I know you must
and I am filled with longing and sadness.

Letting go,
letting go

the greatest gift,
not to hold and define and smother,

but to see you writ large
by your own hand.

And I am always
your mother,

not a strange mythological creature
who tames dragons and rides unicorns,

but a woman
of flesh and bone.

Not frozen artistic perfection,
a marble statue unchanging, beautiful,

but a work in progress,
the same as you.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2003

From  Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey

As I wrote before, my mother-in-law, Rae, died in March. It felt very strange this first Mother’s Day without her. I kept thinking to remind my husband to call. It looked like my Mom might also be wrapping up her life, but she is strong in so many ways and she rallied. On Mondays after my voice lesson I call her. We both consciously treasure our wide-ranging conversations—for however long we have. (I sent her tulips.)  Two recent poems about her.

2/14/11

Valentine’s Day Conversation with Mom

Even close to the end,
eyesight failing,
words dropping out of her repertoire,
she looked to the west

over the building tops
from her apartment balcony
appreciating, savoring,
thoroughly enjoying a magnificent sunset,

full of vivid description
of the flaming band of clouds
that spanned the horizon,
filled with the grace of it, the joy.

And even a day later
would see it still in her mind’s eye
and tell her poet daughter
400 miles away, who could then
see it also…and enjoy…and write….

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

2/17/11

Mom

At some point
often a phone call in the night
and someone you love
is gone. Right now

all I’m saying
is the beginning of the end.
And if I cling to the notion,
the belief, that life is eternal,

still I am aware
it ends in this form
and there will be…soon…
one last hug, one last conversation.

As much as I try
not to think about it,
to be in the moment
where you still are,

still I cry softly
when I consider
you not being here.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Retrograde: To Look Again


During much of this month (until April 23) the planet Mercury has appeared to be going backwards in the sky (an optical illusion). According to astrologers this is called a period of Mercury Retrograde, when life may seem less smooth, specifically with disruptions in communications. Generally not the best time to sign a major contract or buy a house, for example.

Whether you believe this Mercury retrograde business or not, there does seem to be a time of “shake-up” around that time, and people don’t like it. In a workshop I took years ago, the teacher said this was a time to do things that begin with “re”: Reflect, restore, rejuvenate, replenish, review, rest, relax, redo, renovate, etc. You get the idea. A time to look back, clear out and begin life fresh again. So I do not dread these times, when my computer or internet seems more likely to be off kilter, I try to take care of myself and clear off my desk (an ongoing challenge) and not take it personally. A great time to get a massage, take a walk, breathe deeply, do yoga, re-connect with old friends…

Here is a poem I began while getting a massage with Brigitte, thinking about restoration of body, mind, emotions and spirit.

Note: Khofu was a pharaoh in ancient Egypt. In 1954 a ship (solar barge) was discovered buried at the base of the great pyramid of Giza. The ship is held together by a sophisticated system of ropes stitched through holes in the planks.

4/6/11

During Retrograde
After Brigitte

From Jell-O or pudding
reconstitute a human

build muscle in lattice of bone
use ligament and tendon

to lash the boat together
like the great ship of Khofu

that lasted four thousand years and counting
Remake organs from blueprints

found in memories’ closet
that box on the top shelf never opened

but now essential
for restoration, renovation, revolution

The eyes of innocence, not naïve or wary
but open to beauty

The ears, the tongue fresh from the factory
brain, heart, programmed for compassion

Blood courses through the map
of newly laid arteries and veins

The pump begins again
Nerves reflexively control all motion

all manner of sensation
Cleansed of barnacles of tension

washed free of grime and lampblack
covering innate light

All in all, all is well
considering…

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Happy Birthday, Alex!!

Dad’s Birthday

Today was my Dad’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Dad! No one alive knows any more the truth or myth of the family story that his mom tried to hold off his delivery until after April Fools Day, 1925. But babies come when they are ready and even a very stubborn German lady might not be able to pull that off!

He died in 1985, (when my son was just shy of one year old). He was 60, the age I am very aware of approaching. And very aware of how young that was, how much I have left I want to do. In 2009 I posted some poems for his birthday. Here are a few more.

10/5/08

Watermelon Reminds Me of Michigan

My strapping Dad buying
a couple big, unsplit,

possibly ripe, whole ones
for the extended family reunions.

Chill and wrap in layers of newspaper
to keep cool in summer heat.

Slippery wet black seeds
could be pinched between thumb

and forefinger,
shooting some distance

into park crabgrass
or spit, with juice

running down the chin,
face a satisfied grin.

Yes, that watermelon,
sometimes salted half-moon slices

or quarters for the youngest
(don’t eat below the pink part!)

treats in the hot season,
limited availability then.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2008

7/18/10

Sitting With It

My uncle died last week,
my Dad’s only brother,

I was not that close to him
so the intensity of my grieving

ambushed me.
But he represented my father,

gone these 25 years,
and he represented my past, my childhood,

my tribe, my clan (all that expectation).
All the memories wrapped up in one man.

He represented all the aunts and uncles beginning to pass on
and my mother, waiting in line.

I am from Michigan people who gathered
and stayed together, supported each other.

And I left them to find myself—
the gain in that decision

greater than the loss, but there was loss nevertheless,
any connection to them from a distance.

Any relationship of my children to them,
more fragile and tenuous.

(My children did not grow up with
extended family at every important occasion.)

And now that my Dad’s brother is gone…
no more chances for understanding.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

My father was a complex man and we had our troubles growing up, but I am grateful for many things, the lessons I continue to learn from him. This poem was written as part of body-mind-emotion-spirit energy healing work I did with Tricia Eldridge (founder of Energy Touch School for Advanced Healing in Michigan) to deal with recurring abdominal weakness and other persistent health issues.

12/1/09

Old Wounds Healed

My Dad came this time,
invited to participate,

to undo what had been done,
to take back what had been said,

lodged in my gut but rightfully
belonged to him.

She said he struggled with it,
but kept on until the dark mass,

that chain and ball or anchor?
who knows, not mine,

but his, and now returned to him,
leaving me lighter, healing.

He died 24 years ago,
I have worked hard

over and over to heal and forgive.
Last week he showed up

clearer than ever—in a good way—
sitting at our old Formica kitchen table,

cutting giblets and celery for stuffing
the Thanksgiving turkey.

Was that his ethereal gold form
standing last night in my room?

Did he choose to come help
or did I call him…or both…or neither?

Just the right timing,
you know how this works:

what is ready to be healed
come up to the surface.

However painful, allowing the feeling
releases the hold.

Still true,
still true.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2009

IWWG at Brown, part 3

These are my final poems and a few pictures from the IWWG conference at Brown University in summer, 2010. (Some poems written at home just after.) The Remember the Magic conference has been going on more than thirty some years, a long time, mostly at Skidmore College. Last summer it was at Brown, this summer it will be a Yale, but smaller in scope. This is an organization in transition and like all transitions, personal or organizational, the outcome is not certain. The possibilities numerous and spacious. I am grateful for the weeks I had to go out on my own, with other women writers, and discover and be myself. The joy of creation and then coming home. What remains of all the glorious insight when I am back in the context of daily life?

8/4/10

To write on unlined paper
to color outside the lines

willing to be seen as different
not go along to fit in.

To be joyful
to carry a glass at least half-full.

To embrace change
as pure possibility, wait and see.

To practice
what I almost preach

to walk the talk
without squawking.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/5/10

For Kitt

You don’t know
what they say about you
but I do

“That Kitt Alexander,
I just love her!”
I’m not making this up

from fervent imagination.
It really happened.
Would I lie to you?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/5/10

Lessons in Self-Care

Every day, wake up
balance consciously as best I can
stay with it
brush teeth twice, morning and night,
shower, lotion, and deodorant.
Clothes in colors that vibrate and resonate.

Water often. Food  as fuel. Walk. Listen. Smile.
There is more I’m sure,
just promise to pay attention
as best I can, as best I can.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/8/10

Post-Conference

Opportunities will arise
to gently exercise
underused muscles like
the muscle to stick up for yourself
to be assertive on your own behalf,
or the muscle to listen to inner guidance
without struggle or shyness,
or the muscle to hear the voice
that says time to rest.

Each an opportunity to practice
what you know is true.
This way you are is not the True-you,

just the collection of life choices
and circumstances up to now,
conscious or unaware,
added to what you came in with
and what you were given to work on.
And now is the chance to choose again,

begin to re-write the old story.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/8/10

Thinking of You

Time and again
I have faced the inevitable end

and thus far
it has always receded

to the indefinite future
where you still are.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/8/10

Lie Down

Lie down in the clouds above you

separate for a moment from the life you lead

float for a bit weightless

just for a moment

then drift back

light

breathe

and re-animate

wiggle bare toes, feel grass tickle

feet grounded but light on the face of earth

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/9/10

Monday Walk After Singing

Empty
Fill
Be filled

Empty
Walk to the lake
muscle kinks work out

mind stills with steps taken
See the new ivy shoots
on crumbling brick wall

Drink water
go on after intersection
Check in. Go on

Surprising how far goes
one foot in front of the other
Drink water

Turn back at the end
walking uphill now
comfortable stride

Left, right
walk with both feet
heel, toe, shoes re-tied

just right
Cut across church grass
not exactly explicitly forbidden

Drive off smiling
at workmen spreading out dirt
under very old trees

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010 

8/9/10

Someone Said

Someone said something
a small puzzle
a sliver under the skin

irritatingly hard to remove.
Why of all the kind words spoken
should these thoughtless ones remain?

Because of implication
because I want to please everyone
(including myself)

even though that is not possible—
there is no pleasing some people.
Let it go. Don’t you know.

Let it go, my sweet potato.
Talk and untangle.
Walk and calm.

Sweat and sleep and write
and bless all the teachers
who have come.

Bless and move on along.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010 

8/9/10

Home

Back home with
magic in my bones

how to sustain
in my usual domain

where it appears
nothing has changed

the demands, the constraints
the ties that bind.

How to be as I was:
most gloriously my own?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010