Monday, April 2, 2012
Poem Three - Math
I was only fourteen.
I did not know.
I thought it was me.
I could not follow your examples.
The book seemed to skip steps.
I did not know
That without math I could not
Build buildings.
Design skateboards.
See fractals.
Become a doctor.
Design a bridge.
Learn chemistry.
I did not know.
That you were a history teacher,
Drafted to teach us.
I know now, you were not sane.
Grabbing girls’ pencils and
Throwing them out the window.
I know now.
Won’t someone teach me math?
Poem Two - Roses
He came in from the grocery store,
Plastic bulging from both hands.
I almost didn’t see the cellophane
But I heard it and turned around.
Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel,
I turned to see what the noise was.
He was standing there looking shy,
With a bouquet of exquisite roses.
One look at his face, and
I didn’t say,
“Those are too expensive!”
I didn’t say,
“But you know I like carnations better!”
I reached for a vase.
The roses
Were perfect in it.
After forty years, he knew
They would be.
Plastic bulging from both hands.
I almost didn’t see the cellophane
But I heard it and turned around.
Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel,
I turned to see what the noise was.
He was standing there looking shy,
With a bouquet of exquisite roses.
One look at his face, and
I didn’t say,
“Those are too expensive!”
I didn’t say,
“But you know I like carnations better!”
I reached for a vase.
The roses
Were perfect in it.
After forty years, he knew
They would be.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Poem One - Daydreamer
I remember the hard wooden desk.
My small self had to stay planted,
While sheet after sheet of purple ink
Passed through my fumbling fingers.
Fat pencils with no erasers,
Gripped tightly, left smudges
On the paper that held my mistakes.
At least the desk had writing carved in,
And I could wonder about the names.
Susan and Danny 4ever,
I love Robert,
MB+RG.
I saw them when I read their names,
It was far more interesting than the papers.
Susan was small and dark,
Danny had red hair.
He thought she smelled nice.
They passed notes from this very desk, and -
What? No, ma'am, I'm not finished yet.
My small self had to stay planted,
While sheet after sheet of purple ink
Passed through my fumbling fingers.
Fat pencils with no erasers,
Gripped tightly, left smudges
On the paper that held my mistakes.
At least the desk had writing carved in,
And I could wonder about the names.
Susan and Danny 4ever,
I love Robert,
MB+RG.
I saw them when I read their names,
It was far more interesting than the papers.
Susan was small and dark,
Danny had red hair.
He thought she smelled nice.
They passed notes from this very desk, and -
What? No, ma'am, I'm not finished yet.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
NaPoWriMo - I'm In!
I've committed myself to writing a poem a day for 30 days on a site called National Poetry Writing Month. Some may say I should be committed...
But I think it will be fun. I will have to write a poem, which I have really started doing a lot recently, and at the end of the month I will have enough poems for a small chapbook, if I include some of my earlier ones.
I've already participated in the Sunday Random Line Poetry Project, in which poets send in a line or two of poetry to a woman in a private Facebook message, who then compiles them into a poem in the order they come in. No editing. We have done this for 52 weeks, each Sunday for a year, and now we have a book of 52 poems, each written by an average of ten poets, which we will sell to benefit the "starving artists" among us.
It has been amazing to see how well the poems hang together, none of us knowing what topic will emerge, none of us even knowing each other except through the group.
And now, another challenge! What fun!
Watch this space.
But I think it will be fun. I will have to write a poem, which I have really started doing a lot recently, and at the end of the month I will have enough poems for a small chapbook, if I include some of my earlier ones.
I've already participated in the Sunday Random Line Poetry Project, in which poets send in a line or two of poetry to a woman in a private Facebook message, who then compiles them into a poem in the order they come in. No editing. We have done this for 52 weeks, each Sunday for a year, and now we have a book of 52 poems, each written by an average of ten poets, which we will sell to benefit the "starving artists" among us.
It has been amazing to see how well the poems hang together, none of us knowing what topic will emerge, none of us even knowing each other except through the group.
And now, another challenge! What fun!
Watch this space.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Ache
The Gypsy Mama blog site has a five minute Friday where other bloggers can write on a topic and submit it. Here's mine, on the topic, "Ache":
My sons are adults. They are making their own choices now - some good, some bad. Watching the consequences unfold is achingly difficult. I used to be able to protect them. Now I can only stand by and cheer from the sidelines or provide comfort when they stumble back.
When one reveals a possible calling, my heart aches with love and hope that this one, always a caring child, can continue to help others as he always has, and that he won't be buffeted by life in the process.
When one stumbles in his resolve and is despairing, I ache that I can't fix it for him, like I used to with a Bandaid and a kiss. I must watch as he gets up yet again and tries.
I love my children. But they aren't babies anymore. I must let them stand up as men, though my heart aches sometimes. They will be all right, and one day they will watch their children grow and ache for them, too.
My sons are adults. They are making their own choices now - some good, some bad. Watching the consequences unfold is achingly difficult. I used to be able to protect them. Now I can only stand by and cheer from the sidelines or provide comfort when they stumble back.
When one reveals a possible calling, my heart aches with love and hope that this one, always a caring child, can continue to help others as he always has, and that he won't be buffeted by life in the process.
When one stumbles in his resolve and is despairing, I ache that I can't fix it for him, like I used to with a Bandaid and a kiss. I must watch as he gets up yet again and tries.
I love my children. But they aren't babies anymore. I must let them stand up as men, though my heart aches sometimes. They will be all right, and one day they will watch their children grow and ache for them, too.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Rest in Peace, Aunt Becky
My aunt Becky passed away yesterday at the age of 91, after a long battle with Alzheimer's. That disease is so wicked; it takes the essence of the person away and leaves the shell of the body. She was diagnosed with it at the age of 78, so her daughters dutifully took care of her for over a decade as she slipped farther and farther away.
Last week she had a stroke. Since she was no longer able to speak, the extent of the damage could not be determined. A few days ago, she began to refuse nourishment. My cousin Camille, who lives in Georgia, got on a plane to Columbus, Ohio,where her sister Libbie lives, and where their mother was being taken care of in a nursing home. She hoped she would make it there in time to say goodbye. She did.
Alzheimer's has been described as "The Long Goodbye". Slowly, the person afflicted with it begins to slip away, and though they do not die right away, you know the person you love is changing and will not be back.
Aunt Becky was a strong and intelligent woman. She became a nurse, which would later take a toll on her physically, and married in her thirties. She had the two girls, then when they were still young, her husband died. Aunt Becky did her best to support them and did very well.
She sewed beautifully, and would make matching dresses for her little girls. When I visited them, as a child, I loved the very female environment of pretty things and lacy nighties on the girls, and good things to eat.
She sewed for others, too. When my babies were born, Aunt Becky made needlepoint birth announcements.
She was there for my mother, her older sister, who had some problems, shall we say, dealing with life. My sister, fifteen years older than I, spent a lot of time with her aunt when our mother couldn't cope. Aunt Becky was the one who, when my mother died of leukemia at age 60, took care of a lot of the social obligations of the funeral for us.
She went back to school and got her Master's degree in social Work Services, graduating at age 58. Nursing, as I said, had taken a toll on her back. She then worked as a travelling nurse, visiting homebound patients, till she retired at 72.
Yesterday, her daughters put on matching outfits just as they had so many years ago, and went to tell their Mama goodbye. They said all the loving things they could think of, and then told their Mama it was okay for her to go - they would be all right. She passed away just a few minutes later.
What determines a life well-lived? Perhaps it is simply doing the best one can with the hand one is dealt. Keeping going when the going is tough. Getting up every morning and going to work, caring for children, friends and the elderly. Loving your children as best you can. Trying to beautify where you are.
That being the case, as I believe it is - you did well, Aunt Becky. Rest in peace. I was named Rebecca after you, and it is an honor I shall try to live up to.
We will miss you.
Last week she had a stroke. Since she was no longer able to speak, the extent of the damage could not be determined. A few days ago, she began to refuse nourishment. My cousin Camille, who lives in Georgia, got on a plane to Columbus, Ohio,where her sister Libbie lives, and where their mother was being taken care of in a nursing home. She hoped she would make it there in time to say goodbye. She did.
Alzheimer's has been described as "The Long Goodbye". Slowly, the person afflicted with it begins to slip away, and though they do not die right away, you know the person you love is changing and will not be back.
Aunt Becky was a strong and intelligent woman. She became a nurse, which would later take a toll on her physically, and married in her thirties. She had the two girls, then when they were still young, her husband died. Aunt Becky did her best to support them and did very well.
She sewed beautifully, and would make matching dresses for her little girls. When I visited them, as a child, I loved the very female environment of pretty things and lacy nighties on the girls, and good things to eat.
She sewed for others, too. When my babies were born, Aunt Becky made needlepoint birth announcements.
She was there for my mother, her older sister, who had some problems, shall we say, dealing with life. My sister, fifteen years older than I, spent a lot of time with her aunt when our mother couldn't cope. Aunt Becky was the one who, when my mother died of leukemia at age 60, took care of a lot of the social obligations of the funeral for us.
She went back to school and got her Master's degree in social Work Services, graduating at age 58. Nursing, as I said, had taken a toll on her back. She then worked as a travelling nurse, visiting homebound patients, till she retired at 72.
Yesterday, her daughters put on matching outfits just as they had so many years ago, and went to tell their Mama goodbye. They said all the loving things they could think of, and then told their Mama it was okay for her to go - they would be all right. She passed away just a few minutes later.
What determines a life well-lived? Perhaps it is simply doing the best one can with the hand one is dealt. Keeping going when the going is tough. Getting up every morning and going to work, caring for children, friends and the elderly. Loving your children as best you can. Trying to beautify where you are.
That being the case, as I believe it is - you did well, Aunt Becky. Rest in peace. I was named Rebecca after you, and it is an honor I shall try to live up to.
We will miss you.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
So Sorry It Didn't Work Out
Melissa and Dave have broken up. Respecting their privacy, I will not go into any details. Now the complicated process of getting a divorce when you live in two separate countries begins.
I am sorry it didn't work out. I was getting to know her, and I liked her, though she was very shy around my husband and I. I do my best to like all the girls my sons bring home. I am more successful with some than others.
I keep up with Melissa on Facebook. She's already listed as in a relationship with someone else. That bothers me more than I care to admit. But it lets me know she probably was not THE ONE.
I hope our Dave finds the one, the forever girl.
I am sorry it didn't work out. I was getting to know her, and I liked her, though she was very shy around my husband and I. I do my best to like all the girls my sons bring home. I am more successful with some than others.
I keep up with Melissa on Facebook. She's already listed as in a relationship with someone else. That bothers me more than I care to admit. But it lets me know she probably was not THE ONE.
I hope our Dave finds the one, the forever girl.
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