Empty Nest

A graphic poem by Amy Shimshon-Santo

Creo Books Los Angeles, California 2013

Life is full of transitions. Some are easier than others. This chapbook honors the transition called the empty nest. My children blossomed. They grew up, became adults, and went off on their own adventures. They set their aims, the doors of opportunity opened, and we were all very happy about that. I was unprepared for just how challenging it would be when they left. When the kids were small I assured them I would travel the world when they grew up. I said this to comfort them so they wouldnt worry or feel responsible for taking care of me. I wanted them to feel free to follow their own interests. Over time, I came to like the idea, and promised myself I would leave when they left. I would travel the world! I hadnt taken into account that in order for them to go to college, which is something I wanted for them, I would have to work as much as possible to help them cover their costs. So, they left home and I stayed. I felt out of place at home without them. At first, I ignored the place. I stayed out as much as possible. Finally, I made an effort to come home more and create new rituals and habits to make the space feel better to me. I planted a little garden. I ripped out the fireplace. I lived semi-furniture-less. I did yoga in the open living room for the fun of it. I wrote about the experience. An empty nest is a big change especially for a single parent. Making this book helped me process my feelings. My family has changed. Our home has changed. I miss my kids. And, I still hope to travel the world and keep that promise I made to myself. I have come to love this nest with or without my kids inside it. It is a sanctuary for me, as well as my family. As I write this, there are birds singing outside. This nest is not empty, it is full. - a.s.

there is change all around my house / everywhere I clean / I find quarters / nickels / dimes / pennies / old fashioned money

change / everywhere

my son left his turntables out / when he went away to college / so I could play his vinyls / he doesnt want me to feel alone / make sure and get out of the house / he said

my daughter wants me to find / the source of my own happiness / not only theirs / I agree / all of us could share our happiness / when the time comes to see each other again

my family is at the edge of change / I wish my children forward / accept my parental term limit / learn to understand / where I am now

I am alone in a home full of small things / accumulated over years / my daughters shiny porcelain sculpture of two dolphins / my sons monster pez dispenser

I clean a table stacked with piles of intact out-of-use technology / video tapes without covers / childrens names scrawled in pen on their sides / zip disks with no zip drive / laptops that have perished / the archeology of a recorded past / with no way to see inside it

I drag myself to yoga class / and imagine my body wrestling with a boa constrictor / the painted tail winds from between my legs like a gigantic umbilical cord / I want it outside of myself / I must turn the beast into a powerful companion / turn a snake into a dragon / to fly away

a strand of my daughters long curly hair lies motionless on the bathroom floor / I lean down / nab it between my thumb and forefinger / spin to face the small plastic trashcan in the corner / my arm wont throw / I cant toss it out / I make a wish on the curlique / and save it as an artifact

a folded stack of my sons clothes balance on the edge of his empty bed / I gather them in my arms / the soft flannel shirts are proof he was here / I should clean up / but cant face his closet / filled with shoes hes outgrown

that night an earthquake rumbled / the bed shook / I awoke in the dark of course there is an earthquake / the earth knows what is happening to my family / my children / two worlds / split apart from my own / I nod back to sleep

there is change all around my house / quarters / nickels / wet pennies / dusty dimes / I store the change in glass bottles for safe keeping / metal circles with faces / what is left over / my house is filled with change / the kind that weighs down your pockets / with names and dates of former times

my children / who came through me / have grown up and gone / they hunted down their own paths and found them / they are happy / even grateful

over time / I will pack boxes / and paint the walls white / or choose different colors

new sun will poke into this echoing place

I clear a table of cat hair and mirth / teenagers discarded homework / outdated algebraic calculations / things that served their purpose

I clear the table of everything I have been / and all the things my family was / our communal archive