The Maynard
Spring 2018

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The Year We Considered Foster Care

“Consider how some of these character traits are demonstrated in your
own family—and what you might do to further develop them.”
                                                                     —email from Utah Foster Care

i.
Willing to help not just a child,        but that child’s family

In Spring, in the new house, we study                        the yard, then
            take down the evergreen,                    harbinger of needles
                        and shadows. Curtains of green            falling.
                                                   Then, sunlight                 soil.

ii.
Able to offer love without expecting it                        in return

I plant: lavender, coral bells,            impatiens, butterfly bushes.
Late start—new roof, nails, shingles—        so I delayed, but
                                                    I’m trying.
            10 bags soil pep
            16 X 16 fertilizer
            $240 at Lomond View Nursery
            Carpathian harebell,    Japanese maple, baby’s breath
            Every gift from Mother’s Day
                        Mud    on my knees, between        my toes, my breasts,
                        when I remove            my bra—sweat-soaked
                                        & yellowed—to bathe.
                                But—

iii.
Don’t take the child’s misbehavior            personally

                        March                       pandemic
                        April                          earthquake
                        May—August           drought
                        September              windstorm
            Whatever rises thrives     for a week, maybe two, then
                                    withers. Soon, we’re back
                                    to blank dirt, the wind & heat having licked
                                                all moisture        from the earth.

iv.
Have no expectations. Children have their own path & a right
                to determine                                who they will become

            In July, leaving a summit,        my friend & I find an owl
                        on the ground                disguised as a pine cone.
                                    I nearly step        on it.
                                    Owl,        we say.            Baby owl
            and it opens its mouth to mewl        when we get close.
                        Ragged wing,    and we wing        under it a napkin,
                        head to wildlife rehab. The owl’s tucked        into itself,
            tiny storm        of gold and dirt, twig & wood.
            When we stroke it, its mouth gapes, snake-
                        like minus the fangs.            I’m oddly afraid.
            There, we step            from the car and
                        the owl             flies off.                    Not hurt but
            fledgling. The volunteer says                     not owl but
                                        poorwill
            flies into a grove of oaks              away from hands, and
            for the rest of the day                   I think, puzzled, poorwill.

            Poorwill. Poorwill.

v.
Able to make & keep commitments
        Being committed to helping         a child is more important
                        than loving the child.

            Early Fall        and my sons & I kneel
                        in a country of dirt, dig seventy-four craters six inches
                                    deep, drop a pale light wrapped in husky skin in
                                    each.    It’s a faith                  six months long. I tell
                                    my six-year-old        trowel, not digger         tulip,
                        not onion.           He claims a spot and plants
                                    a cup,             waters it.            Wears mud
            on his lips,    cheek, hair    until bath time.        His face
                        impossibly beautiful.    No one can take him            away.
            My heart         is a cage. I want            what stays.
            He says, I’ll water my mud plant every day. I know and don’t know
                        if he knows
                        nothing will ever grow there             but mud.

vi.
Have a good sense            of humor.

            October, grasshoppers devour            new blood leaves
                        on the Japanese maple.              I flick one from a stem
                                    too hard                and it bleeds itself out
            on the front porch.        I feel guilty            for two days.
            Just trying to save          what’s finally growing.              So many risks
                                    to harm.            Nearly everything I’ve planted
                        has died.        My six-year-old digs up the cup, shrugs
                                                            at the nothing that’s surfaced.
                        Can I just play with the mud? he asks.
                        He likes the sucking sound        of the cup            as it sinks
                                                and rises
                                    sinks                 and rises.