Challenging Poetry

on heroes and powers

I always liked the quiet heroes—
the ones who plod on,
day by day,
in laboratories
and in universities,
behind desks
and on the streets.

I knew a woman, once,
who could check a child
with a single look,
and the raising of fingers:
one, two, three.
she was a hero, to me.

I would love to vanish—
to find a fortress of solitude,
where rent,
and bills,
and classes,
and the need for medications
couldn’t find me.
invisible, I’d climb the tallest tower,
pull out my computer,
and consider scientists
and artists,
and mothers,
and grandmothers—
those unsung heroes—
I would let their stories flow.

My basic issue with comic book heroes is that they don't play with real world issues. Either they're too strong or too rich or too dark to feel real to me. So, when I thought about superpowers, the first thing I thought about was heroes--everyday people who go beyond their job descriptions to save the world. I had a roommate like that once.

And then, I thought about my mother. The way she puts it, my sister, Madeline (the one in Germany whose husband is in the AF) used to bounce off the walls. Mom would see the look that said there was mischief coming, raise her brows, and count on her fingers, and Mads would grin, and go off to think up other mischief. I remember those exchanges--I'm nine years older than Mads--she went into the terrible twos at about eighteen months, and then for a year, Mom followed her around constantly so she didn't manage to kill herself.

And then, I thought about invisibility, which is the only superpower I've ever really coveted--a way to be alone. I've never had the luxury of loneliness--as the oldest of six. And while I love my family, sometimes it would be nice to have a place I could just settle in and write where no one would find me.

So, this poem is a combination of all of that. I should be better at coming up with a single thought instead of letting my poems spread out like that. sigh.