I greatly enjoyed reading this poem by Greg Delanty in this month’s issue of the The Atlantic Monthly and thought I would share it:

Parents

What do any of us know about our parents,
separate or together? My mother kept the house
in order, prepared food, wore the epinetron smooth
rolling the threads, the skeins of daily love.
She wove our clothes, played knucklebones, snakes & ladders,
lined up with other women at the well,
walked home balancing the vase on her head
as she balanced our family, the oikos.
Like most parents she hid her care, sadness, the arguments
with my father heading off on another odyssey.
Da played dead when I stabbed him, let me
wear his helmet, turned into a tickle monster.
Ma scolded him for exciting me before bed.
I suppose they were like most parents. What do I know?
I had no others. They were as mysterious as the night sky,
the Islands of the Blest, the sea, Hades, the god
hidden within the darkness of the forbidden inner temple.

Thoughts for the day, at least for me.

A migrant's jacket I found in the prickly pear

Sometimes a place can imprint you with its own tragedy. Maybe that was the idea behind the supposed hauntings last week.

Right now I’m a bit imprinted by the day I spent with the dusk shift of the Tohonoh O’odham Reservation Police Department, during which time I toured much of their 75 miles of border with Mexico. I heard a lot of terrible stories—dogs bringing skeletal bones into the kitchens of tribal members, the way the corpses found in the desert bloat in summer and stay fresh in winter. But the worst, of course, was about the children. Not that any of them have been found dead of late on the reservation. But plenty have been found live, and abandoned.

“It happens because they don’t cross with a mom or a dad, just a cousin or an uncle,” was the way the female patrol sergeant who was with me tried to explain the unexplainable. “So when we happen on them, the groups scatter. That bond isn’t there. And they leave the children behind.”

Ranchers out in southeast Arizona had also been telling me they’ve been finding more diapers in the desert, among with all the knapsacks and bedrolls that the human coyotes and their migrants leave behind. Who brings a baby into this land, they asked?

Good fucking question.

That’s the part I still don’t get: Do the migrants simply not know how dangerous and forbidding the landscape on this side of the border is? Do they not know how mesquite branches can tear your clothes and draw blood; how the blister beetles will leave you with open sores; how the snakes don’t look for trouble, but will easily bite when startled?

Or maybe they do know, but they’re so desperate they cross anyway, and just hope that they make it. That’s what really scary, that kind of desperation. Making it with the children would be, apparently, just an added bonus.

My post on super-kids from earlier today (combined with a screaming case of procrastination) have motivated me to scour the Internet in search of other, equally nausea-inducing examples of too-perfect children. Below are links to some of my favorites, but I would love to hear suggestions from our readers, too:

We must of course not forget the Osmonds, for they are freaky and freakily dress:

I’m also including the Incredibles, mostly because putting your kids in extravagant harm’s way seems wrong, and because Holly Hunter has a kinda sexy twang. I’m sick, I know.

At the risk of being offensive, I’m going with The Baby Jesus. Did that kid ever get a free day? Did he? And if you’re not impressed by the various miracles and whatnot, not to mention the Immaculate Conception, well, there’s nothing to be done for you.

How about this supposedly fattest kid on the planet—that’s kinda impressive, and to top it off the video is in German, which lends it a certain weird quality that seems Internet list-worthy:

Don’t like my suggestions? Beat ’em.

Look, I love momblogs. And I love celebrity gossip. But sometimes, when the two cross paths, you get things like this—“13 Celebs Who Should Get Pregnant — RIGHT NOW”:

With Mother’s Day approaching, we can think of more than a few famous moms who we wish had reconsidered procreation.

Alas, all we can do now is whine and beg that these 13 extraordinary women consider evening up the board so those other ninnies can stop taking up valuable space in our gossip mags. Here’s hoping they take our words seriously …

The list, in case you’re wondering, includes: Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi, Beyoncé, Lauren Graham (of Parenthood), Sandra Bullock, Kristin Davis, Jenna Fischer, Gloria Steinem, Emily Deschanel, Carrie Underwood, Jessica Simpson, Jane Lynch, Jennifer Aniston, and Queen Latifah.

So, well… *sigh* It’s hard to explain why this all bothers me so much, or why I see the only appropriate reaction being to suggest:

13 Celebs Who Should Get 13 Other Celebs Pregnant — RIGHT NOW!

1. Gary Coleman, meet Ellen. And Portia. Good luck.
2. Cameron Douglas, I’d like to introduce you to Beyoncé.
3. Hey, Brad Renfro, if you were still alive, what would you think about a date with Lauren Graham?
4. Randy Quaid, when you get out of jail, Sandra Bullock is waiting for you.
5. Joe Francis, I heard Kristin Davis likes you!
6. Danny DeVito + Jenna Fischer 4 Evah!
7. Dude, Christian Bale, your stepmom’s… uh… hot?
8. If you’re not busy, Abe Vigoda, Emily Deschanel would appreciate a call.

Actually, this is making me sick. If anyone feels like completing this list, do so in the comments. My stomach hurts from doing this much already.