Emily lives in San Diego, California where she teaches at San Diego Global Vision Academy. She serves as a teacher leader and instructional coach at her site, creating and presenting professional development for the teaching team. Emily is also a fellow and teacher consultant with the San Diego Area Writing Project under the National Writing Project. As a teacher consultant, she is honored to work with a diverse teacher and student population across San Diego. Emily believes in teachers teaching teachers and strives to perpetuate that model. She spends her free time with her husband, 3 year old son, and rescue dog.
Inspiration
There are many mundane moments and daily actions in our lives. These may seem less noteworthy, but upon closer inspection, you may find that they shed some light as to who we are as individuals.
Clint Smith’s poem below sheds light on a being in a way that is subtle and powerful.
Clint Smith
Something You Should Know
is that as a kid, I once worked at a pet store.
I cleaned the cages
of small animals like turtles, hamsters,
rabbits, and hermit crabs.
I watched the hermit crab continue
to grow, molt, shed its skin and scurry across
the bottom of the aquarium to find a new shell.
Which left me afraid for the small creature,
to run around all exposed that way, to have
to live its entire life requiring something else
to feel safe. Perhaps that is when I became afraid
of needing anything beyond myself. Perhaps
that is why, even now, I can want so desperately
to show you all of my skin, but am more afraid
of meeting you, exposed, in open water.
Process
Make a list of places you have worked or lived. Choose one that stands out to you that you’d like to explore today. Use Clint Smith’s poem as a mentor text. Perhaps the repetition of certain words and phrases, or the use of powerful verbs.
Emily’s Poem
Something You Should Know
is that when I was young, I once worked as a Kelly’s Coffee barista.
I greeted patrons
of all ages, baked blueberry scones, and
of course, made caffeinated beverages.
I tamped the espresso neat
and tidy, like a hockey puck, into the wand
leaving zero trace of crumb on the edges.
Espresso grind is notoriously messy,
Which only gave me more resolve to
meticulously pack it, manage it, control it.
Perhaps that i when I became
obsessed with having a spot for everything.
Perhaps that is why, even now,
when I get the desperate urge to
leave a crumb,
I’m afraid so
I sweep them all neatly away.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
I’m 04 days too late! Ugh, sorry! Emily, I love the prompt. There are so many little things that I always wish people knew about me, but they’re so tiny and weird that they never make it into conversation. This was the perfect place for one of those things!
Something You Should Know…
is that I’ve always loved sleep.
I was the child who’d nap without any tantrums.
My tantrums were and are always about waking up,
about going back to the real world,
going back to responsibilities and expectations.
The world of my dreams never asked me to be
anything more than what I was, what I am,
but the waking world brings it scissors and its chisels,
to cut me down to size, to chip away my edges.
Something you should know,
is that even as I type this,
I’d rather be in bed,
huddled under my blanket, the AC on full,
cozy and safe and about to drift off to sleep.
Thank you for the prompt. I know I’m super late to post, my weekend just got away from me. I didn’t write about a job, but I did write about something that has helped to shape my life.
Something you should know
“On the edge of an Arabian desert there lived centuries ago”
At the sound of those word I know Job’s story is going to be told
With a gavel rap here and a gavel rap there
Assuming the attitude of prayer, when called for
This is where I learned to be a leader
How to plan a fundraiser
Create an agenda for a meeting
Write check, balance a checkbook
Take minutes
Make a motion
Follow Robert’s Rules of Order
I learned that sometimes you a called to lead
Sometimes you are not
And you can still have an impact without being in charge
Public speaking is now ingrained in me
This is where I learned to give back as an adult
Helping to mold and teach future leaders
Holding dear “In all the land no woman were found as fair as the daughters of Job”
Something you should know, I am a Job’s Daughter
DeAnna,
I know how important your work is to you in this organization. I know you make a huge difference for a lot of young women. Nicely done,
DeAnna, this poem helped me understand more of the mission of Job’s daughters and how its impacted you. While I know you spend a lot of time with this organization, the poem helped me picture it better. Thanks for sharing!
Hey Emily! I LOVE this prompt and the inspiration. I also deeply connected to your example poem.
Something you should know
is that when I was 13 years old I
got my first job working in the corn fields
of a Pioneer research facility in Windfall, Indiana.
I shoot bagged, took down, and set up on plants
to help breeders figure out which plants would
be most resilient to pests of plant, insect, and animal varieties
There is no question that this is where I learned
the power of my own resistence
where the experiences of working in
sun and
rain and
heat
forged a strength in me that I didn’t know
I could have.
These experiences created in me
my own hybrid vigor
and now I, too, can withstand pests
of numerous varieties
while thriving in the lushness of
my own roots
my own leaves
my own ears
and
tassels.
Hello Emily,
Your prompt today was very inspirational. Your poem about working as a barista and your “resolve” to be “tidy” took me back to all the many jobs in my life and the various lessons they taught me. Thank you!
Something You Should Know
One cold December, I was a holiday temp
In the airport post office center.
This is where the airplanes pick up and drop off millions of boxes and envelopes 24/7.
There were two stations:
Offloading huge bags of junk mail from silent, dark, aluminum containers, or
Sorting boxes as they slowly moved down a gray, rubber conveyor belt.
I preferred box sorting.
There was some sport in it.
Grab the box. Read the ZIP code. Spot the box with the matching code and
THROW!
It felt like a training exercise for a wannabe quarterback.
Some short passes. Some deep in the end zone.
A couple pass-fakes when no one was looking.
No one was ever looking.
The one that says FRAGILE, let it fly.
The one that says DO NOT BEND, floats like a frisbee.
Brief moments of joy dulled by longer moments of sheer boredom.
Absolute, mind-numbing, lost-in-your-own-thoughts, reflective moments.
Work here full time, you ask?
No, thank you.
I will continue riding the belt, looking for my ZIP code.
I spend the whole day helping my older son buy a new (to him) car. Just got home. I love the prompt and will revisit it again when I am not so spent, but here is a quickly done attempt.
Something You Should Know
is that I worked as a waitress
for six years in high school
and in college
I worked the dinner shift
and soon got promoted
to the breakfast shift
working from 6:30-2:30am
four days a week
I served coffee
tea
and orange juice
alongside eggs
over easy
poached
scrambled
in an omelet,
and
French toast
cinnamon rolls
huevos rancheros
and waffles
I was known for
moving fast and
carrying very heavy trays
while I fed the customers
all of this caring for others
seemed to have seeped into my soul
and I now care for my sons
and my students
with everything I’ve got
I guess the service industry
engrained itself into my heart
and I can’t turn it off
not that I’d want to
Precisely, Cara! I have got the bad wrists to show for carrying those overloaded trays (bartender, busser, and banquets were my gigs), but I would NOT trade those experiences for anything. I often wax political that everyone who wants to dine out should have to work for at least three months in the food biz – show your “I’ve been there, done that” card before you can cross the threshold! : ) I also took advantage of working places that fed me. Good for poor college students! I love all the specific details here – as I am writing and contemplating breakfast – I want to order the full poem! Your tired attempt is a winner!
Perfect, Cara! People would describe you as “moving fast” today still and metaphorically teachers carry “very heavy trays / while [feeding] customers”. I love the way your past job grew skills that are so transferrable to your work as a teacher.
Cara,
Love it. You are still fast moving, I’ve seen it in the halls. Your caring heart is on of the many things that make you the wonderful teacher you are.
Thanks for a great prompt Emily! I knew right away what I would write about–but it was much harder than I anticipated!
Here’s my attempt:
Something You Should Know
is that the teenaged me bonded with Dad over
sprint cars as pit crew members
Squeezed in the back of the truck
nestled with the spare tires
on long road trips to the racetrack
Circles of speed
left turns only
going around and around
arriving nowhere fast
Rolling tires
topping off fuel
pushing the race car to the starting line
Dressed alike in white jeans and t shirt
as we traverse the muddy track
trying not to wipe grease stained hands
on those bright white pants
Life’s lessons:
watch your back
compete even if you can’t win
fitting in sometimes means standing out
and eventually you figure out what matters most in life
through the relationships built
watching cars drive around in circles.
A wonderful testimony to sprint car racing. My brother in law was also a driver and we were watching those cars go round and round. We weren’t part of the pit crew but got to sit around in a bar after the race and hear all the stories. I like the feeling of nestled with the spare tires and traversing the muddy track with grease stained hands on white pants.
Oh, I love this, Kim. What a beautiful bonding story, and lessons learned, my fave: “compete even if you can’t win.” Well, heck – that’s pretty much the motto for life, isn’t it? (After writing ‘death’ poems with Denise!) I’ll bet you have some great stories to tell from these experiences! I’ve had students who were drivers and a friend who is NASCAR to the core – I find it a unique community that I enjoy having sneak peeks of, so thank you for sharing this.
Something you should know …
is that at 3 a.m.
when you’ve been snuggled in bed for hours,
we’re gliding across tiled floors in our clunky non-slips
spinning invisible, interlacing webs with our trails,
we’re listening to NPR before moving into
Beyoncé or Robin to get that late-morning jolt
along with our third coffee refill;
we’re calculating batches, following recipes
without deviation, and checking consistencies;
and we’ve pulled several hundred cupcakes
out of the oven by the time your first alarm sounds.
Another thing you should know,
is that our wrists ache from the thousands
of dreamy swirls and rosettes we pipe each week;
our backs stiffen as we lean over bowls, trays, and decor
holding the proper posture to serve up perfection
while maintaining our hard-fought techniques;
our clothes become embedded with powdered sugar,
cocoa, and flour and we’re the best-smelling food worker
you’ll sit next to at the bar at 1:00 p.m.
And the last thing that you should know,
is that the only right way to eat a cupcake
is to eat the damn cupcake.
Eat the damn cupcake!
Laura, your final line re-composed the entire poem! BRILLANT!
I love the dance of the late night bakers! Yes…eat the damn cupcake!
Something You Don’t Really Need to Know
is that as a teen, my dad (over)paid me
to (barely)clean
his offices.
I was hired to
dust
vacuum
and
empty wastebaskets
–positioned next to the couches–
of wadded Kleenex
holding dried tears of the week’s
haggard and hurting
confused and contentious
despondent and (soon/maybe)divorced.
I should have been fired.
Maybe I was.
Something you don’t really need to know:e
I flashed through the offices
vacuuming(?)
dusting (?)maybe not–
instead, reading
reading
reading
every page
page
page
turned with damp fingers
on the shelves
in the room
of the sex therapist.
Ooh, Allison, scandalous–I love this. I love the way you use repetition to, what feels like, slow time and prepositions to create drama in the final stanza. Thanks for sharing!
Allison, I’m thinking these story pages were better than any other book on a shelf – steamy, scary, sultry, forbidden, (maybe) funny, shocking, sensual…I mean,…..how could you clean when there was all that reading to do??
Oh Allison, what a interesting first job. Sure beats flipping burgers at the local fast food joint. 🙂 Thank you for sharing
This was such a good prompt, Emily, to invite us to share something about ourselves. I found it easy to identify the focus of my poem, but struggled to get it to take shape. I’m still not entirely satisfied, but need to let go of it for now.
Something you should know
is that we had no phone
in my childhood home
until I was sixteen.
Yes, I am a bit
decrepit, over the hill,
A dinosaur perhaps,
But not that much!
You should also know
it had (of course!)
a rotary dial
and was a party line.
Like all treasured items,
it resided in the living room,
eavesdropped upon by many ears,
every conversation public.
Reaching out
and touching someone
was reserved for
deaths and emergencies.
Making plans with friends
required careful choreography,
and no-shows
simply missed out.
So you should know,
I prefer to plan ahead,
to know who to expect,
and sigh at last-minute communication.
Charlene, I really enjoyed the links to videos for further enjoyment (and clarification for those who need it)–I’ll have to invite students to start embedding links in their poetry. I also loved the execution, particularly your final stanza where you reveal to us an explanation for who you’ve become.
Charlene, I remember the rotary dial – we had one, but not a party line. If we’d had a party line I wouldn’t have been able to do anything but listen in to everybody’s business! Panning ahead is something we have in common.
Charlene–I had a similar experience, knowing my focus but struggling with the actual poem. Even though we had a phone throughout my childhood in our home, I marvel at how resourceful we were at connecting and communicating with ONLY a phone in the home and not on our person. Oh how have times changed!
something you should know
I grew up in a small town.
My grandfather took my brother and me for rides
on the back of his riding lawn mower on Sunday afternoons.
We visited his friends in town.
On the day I learned to ride a two-wheel bike,
I rode circles around the block passing our neighbor’s house.
I wanted to Jeffrey Lauderdale to know the training wheels were off.
I never knew people bought blackberries in the grocery store.
I thought people picked them in empty lots.
And after schools were integrated, I had two close friends who remained true to me.
I saw what beliefs did to established friendships. To friends my dad had since he was a boy.
School integration became a wedge in the small town.
I learned that beliefs can be divisive. Long lived relationships can dissolve.
I like the juxtaposition of the two stanzas: the nostalgic, Pleasantville-esque small town and the ugly racism that coexist. I like the repetition of the “I + verb” and it works really well in that last line.
Funny bit about the training wheels and wanting to show that off. Likewise, the parallel stories of taking the blinders off in this poem are palpable. Learning about blackberries and learning about racism (implied ‘black skin’ could be paralleled with the blackberries). While there is joy in maturing in this poem, also the sadness in living through the experience of grown-up bad behavior. Ending on the word ‘dissolve’ makes me see the whole ‘age of innocence’ dissolve away. Bittersweet.
Something You Should Know
is that as a kid, I walked a lot.
We did not have a car
Until I was 17, and I got my first vehicle,
A 1973 Maverick with a V8 engine,
White with a beige vinyl half roof
I Turtle-waxed that baby to a mirror-like shine.
Thanh, a neighborhood friend and classmate,
taught me how to check and add
Water and oil and transmission fluid.
I terrified anyone who had the nerve
Or necessity to ride with me, and to this day
I have no sense of speed, but I am a walking GPS.
You learn distance and direction
When you walk. As a kid I walked a lot
We did not have a car.
Marvelous memory, driving a car with a V8 engine at age 17! I adore these lines,
Katrina, I love how your poem comes full circle and how you capture the love for your first vehicle by the way you care for it. Your poem brought a smile to my face remembering my own first vehicle with a V8 engine. Isn’t that what a great poem does, connect you to a memory or shared feeling? Incredible poem! Thank you!
Katrina,
I love this image of “have no sense of speed” alongside “walking GPS” — perfect legacy of your childhood without a car and the lessons learned from walking “a lot.”
Sarah
Katrina, your poem is so close to my heart! I walked a lot until I moved to the States from Ukraine. What surprised me here is that one cannot get far without a car. I had to learn quickly. I like how clearly you remember your first car and how you took care of it. Thank you for sharing!
You are right, Katrina, that you know your area and have good direction if you walk a lot. I did as a teen. What a special thing to have a V8 Maverick as your first car. I wonder how you got it. What power you had driving it down the street. Yes, people must have been terrified at the powerful sound that engine made as well.
I love the idea that you are “a walking GPS.” I sometimes think as things change in my neighborhood that I can check them out more easily walking the dog than I can driving by. Something about the speed of the walk, the ability to alter your pace allows you to notice your surroundings. Thanks for sharing your experience.
“You learn distance and direction / when you walk” really spoke to me, Katrina! It applies to so many things in our lives.
You probably didn’t know
that I’m a pyromaniac
My friends say the best around
Well, I’m not a real maniac
but they say it’s true
I know how to stack
the sticks just right
to build a fire on the ground
A fire-starter can start a blast
without much kindling
(well, I do need a match)
to keep the flare from dwindling
Haven’t learned how to use a flint
to make a spark that will catch
then the flames catch on
and the smoke makes me squint
my eyes are aglow
reflecting the embers
slow warmth and not burning
your hot dog that is turning
The wood has to be dry
must snap with a touch
not green, new or flexible
it doesn’t take much
Mustn’t use oleander
as its fumes can cause a rash
and leaves too much ash
My man taught me these skills
a home-fire every night
to chase away chills
and heat our house
“A little work to keep warm – best,”
said my spouse.
Now I wear a fire-starter cap
It’s all understood
I’m elected to bring the wood
Create a community circle
and start the fire in a snap
I can do it the quickest I must admit
Get excited when the sticks are lit
and the fire blazes
warms my hands when I am near it
as well as my spirit
Susan, I have read many of your poems. This poem has to be my favorite! Thank you for being the fire bearer in word and in deed. My favorite lines, “It’s all understood/I’m elected to bring the wood/Create a community circle/and start the fire in a snap.” I love how friends and family and community gather around your fire.
What a wonderful skill to have! I admire all the rhymes in your poem, giving this the lilt of a song, I think.
The rhyme scheme and the meter here are so unique. I love all your poems, but I agree with Katrina – – this may be my favorite one! So much to love in your lines – – stacking the sticks just right takes a careful hand and eye!
What a perfect first image, a hook if there ever was one. Lovely to think of you creating “community circle” as your poem here does, too and the way the fire warms as your words do to warm our spirit.
Sarah
Thank you all for your encouragement and thanks to Emily for this fun prompt!
I can smell this fire, and feel its warmth, Susan. And your appreciation for your man! I also love the images that come to mind related to “community circle.” This poem is lovely.
Something You Should Know
is I used to work at a pizza place.
I would walk four blocks
To a ma and pa shop
I used to watch yeast rise, flour
Clouds and water mixing
The flattening of fresh dough.
Gallons of white shiny milk
Ranch seasoning and Mayo
Mixed together for a famous side.
Learning to speckle the dough to
Prevent those pesky proud bubbles
Spinning the spatula to spread sauce
Learning cheese to sauce ratios
Pepperoni patterns and black olive
Dances, layering mushrooms with
Green peppers and onions
Maybe this is when I found
My love of using my hands
Of watching alchemy in a kitchen
What a cool experience! “Learning to speckle the dough” – I bet you make a delightful pizza, still. So fun!
Oooh, alchemy in a kitchen – – so much of learning is visual, and you prove here that your interest and your attention to detail resulted in your work with your hands!
Such a fun piece. (It made me rifle around in the drawer of my own experience, too, thinking about where my own joy in the kitchen comes from.) Your joy is clear here and the alliteration scattered about–like delicious pizza toppings–enhances the read. Thank you for sharing!
What a lovely mediation on hands and what they can do in the scenes of our life — “watching alchemy in a kitchen.” The “a” rather than “the” shows the ways our hands serve in different kinds of kitchens!
Sarah
Speckling the dough-I have no idea what that means! I love the phrase “alchemy in the kitchen” and the alliteration you tucked in-prevent those pesky proud bubbles. Now I’m hungry!
Ashley, I love your connection of this early experience to your ongoing love of “alchemy in a kitchen.”
Emily, thank you so much for this engaging prompt. I love Clint Smith’s poem and how you reveal in your poem the necessity for everything being in a particular spot. Your final gesture of sweeping the crumbs away was a sensational ending to your poem.
Something You Should Know
is that I’ve always dreamed of a romantic thrilling moment
perfectly planned just for me
some crazy over the top sweeping gesture
so divine it’d knock me off my feet.
I’ve never got one
my husband doesn’t operate that way;
so the day I see on National TV
the Dodger fan dropping to one knee
opening a jewelry box
inside the LA Dodger stadium
to propose to his fiancée and
who immediately gets whambammed slammed,
and roughly handcuffed by three police,
the prized ring box flying to second base,
I look over at my husband,
snoring open-mouthed on the couch
and sigh with relief,
reminded about how important it is
to be careful of what you wish for
Barb, I love the slow approach of irony in your poem and the moral, “be careful what you wish for.” I would love to hear you read this poem.
I saw that video, Barb! Your poem brings a huge smile to my face. Yes, we all need “to be careful of what you [we!] wish for.” I love your description of your dream –
I do think that couple will look back on this moment with great joy and laughter, at some point!
Oh, my goodness, Barb, this is so real life, the wishing for the Hallmark movie moment and looking over and realizing it’s just an episode of reality television. (Here, too – -I keep waiting…). But clearly, I need to get out from under my rock and watch more national tv. The world could fall apart and I’d be sitting over here buttering my toast and birdwatching. I love your honesty and your glimpse into your living room, which I find so comforting. I think, oddly, that there is so much sweeping off the feet in the comfortable kind of love. You are blessed!
https://youtu.be/vJwI2Hi167o
Oh my! Did he really get slammed? That is sad and so it the fact that you have not gotten a top sweeping gesture. But as you say, it is safer that way. Your husband is content and a dear…
https://youtu.be/vJwI2Hi167o
What a great lesson developed throughout the poem, Barb! You wish for a romantic moment, but “sigh with relief” that your husband isn’t that kind. Love the sounds of “whambammed slammed.” Thank you for sharing!
Barb,
Om going to recall this story every time I start wishing for romance from Ken. Yes, be careful what you wish for. They is such an important lesson!
Oh, my gosh. I hadn’t seen that video. I just watched it, and laughed aloud! What a great poem, Barb. Oh, my, it is perfect in every way. From the wish for a big over-the-top romantic gesture, then this experience while your husband snored open-mouthed, and finally your taking back what you wished for. So precious!
Hi, Emily! Thank you for hosting today and offering us to learn more about each other and ourselves. I liked the mentor poem and yours. Just like you, I always neatly sweep away all crumbles.
When I wrote in response to this prompt, I didn’t know where will it bring me. It came out as a surprise to me:
Something You Should Know
is that when I was just learning the ABC,
I could fake reading
cause I’d memorize poems and stories
after adults read them to me once or twice.
One could mention a phone number once,
I’d recall it when needed.
It was then, when my brother’s teacher
made a home visit to sign him up for school.
I opened my “Rainbow-Bow” book
and repeated the trick.
She totally bought it: “How old are you?”
“Five,” I replied. “So you can read, right?”
Set to test me, she
opened the book to a random page:
“Here! Read!” Without faltering,
I glanced at the picture of Mother Goat,
and began “reading.”
Today, my memory
is giving in to the phone,
watch, Google, and other “smarties”
spitting out any info within the seconds.
Is it convenient? Sure, who’d argue,
but somehow it makes me sad.
To protest, I recite poems
to my students or grandkids
when I have a chance.
Leilya, your poem is timely and provocative. I love how you develop the sequence of events to show how you tricked this teacher and how the “smarties” can now spit out information within seconds. Your protesting method is absolutely delightful.
My 3 year old daughter already does this with books, she knows them better than I do after one or two reads. It amazes me. What a neat skill! And a beautiful poem. Keep on reciting to those students & grandkids!!
Leilya, your story reminds me of my mom’s story. She was blessed with a remarkable memory. Though I did not get her gift for remembering things, I love to recite poetry too. I want to remember your line, “To protest, I recite poems.” Maybe, the rebellion in that statement is just enough to get students to learn poetry.
I love how you captured your 5-year-old confidence! (and I’m a wee bit horrified that the teacher didn’t have another random book to offer you to read, as well). Great idea to recite poems to your grandkids! I need to start doing this.
Leilya, I love that you protest! I worry about my “memory” when my battery runs low – – and my Kindle pages, too……so much depends on technology that our brains are waning. Good for you for being one who resists by memorizing! I love how these prompts and poems help us get to know each other!
I am impressed with that little girl that could read by memorizing. What a brilliant trick. I love that you are still reciting poems and using memory. The world changes quickly…
Something you should know…
I used to walk through New York after grad school
every night
id walk from 14th down south of canal
id loop through
some brilliantly cheap dumplings
maybe a tall boy
and thousands of strides
past bodegas
and garbage, deserted streets
lovers in corners and smokers on sidewalks
i live in the country now
some long bike rides give me insight to patterns of fauna but not into others
but somehow both the pedals and the old city steps give me insight into me:
wandering and wondering
Thank you for sharing, Michael! “Wandering and wondering” is a great way to be. It makes you active and thinking. I like your poem.
Michael, your poem is fantastic. The imagery of walking through New York is so clear, and I enjoy how you end your poem with a final observation about yourself “wandering and wondering.” Thank you!
Love that last line! And the imagery of the city. So good!
Beautiful thoughts – both country and city giving you such joy and opportunity, to ‘wander and wonder.’
The juxtaposition between the two landscapes is striking. You describe each in such a peaceful and serene way it makes me think of ways to wander and wonder.
I love the comparison between the city and the country. The details you share of the city and the country reflect the place – “cheap dumplings,” and “bodegas” compared to “patterns of fauna.” Are the places so different of just “insight into” you?
Something you should know,
is that as a child I would hide
under coffee tables at the ringing of the doorbell
to terrified to greet who had arrived
I would cower under there minute after minute,
even if it was just my grandparents weekly Saturday stop.
Tears would be streaking down my cheeks
as I cowered further under that table…
please don’t see me until I know what you want.
Finally, after what seemed liked forever,
I would silently crawl out and curve into
my mother’s side
and give a sheepish smile to our guests.
Something you should know,
is that as a kindergartener
I cried every single day.
Honestly, looking back I do not know why,
I liked stories, building with blocks and snack time
but the tears flowed each and every day.
One day the teacher asked why I was crying again-
I was embarrassed
so I said that the boy who
was always in trouble threw a block at me-
that was lie!
He received a consequence for my tears
but my voice wouldn’t announce that he was innocent.
I didn’t want any eyes on me.
Something you should know,
is that in my current work as a teacher
I have special bonds with the
quiet, shy, anxious young ones in my care.
When their parents
share their worries about their child’s social sensitivities,
the stories of my childhood days
roll off my tongue.
I seem to offer hope
that their child can be a
successful, social-engaging adult.
Something you should know,
is that those who know me well-
can’t ever believe that my opinions
weren’t flowing freely for all to hear…
Thank you for sharing, Ms. Teacher! Your students are lucky to have you, and because of you they’ll grow up to be just fine or even better. I loved your self-exploration through this poem.
What a lovely poem to remind us that children do grow and change. I remember being tremendously shy which caused a few mishaps along the way. Your shy students are so lucky to have you!
This is lovely. I know well that an anxious, quiet little one does not portend a quiet adult – I was similarly spirited. I adore how you describe your movement to hide against your mom,
Your poem shows so much vulnerability, and your transition into adulthood shows how much wisdom comes with experience.
I like how you touch upon how your childhood experiences touched your work as a teacher, which I think applies to all of us! Something that impacted us greatly (good or bad) influences how we connect with our own learners.
Emily, this is such a cool prompt! I love hearing about what you learned being a barista…it’s amazing how we carry those early lessons with us into everything else we do (I still think “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean!” from my stint at McDonalds!) I thought about writing about McDonalds, but another experience tugged at my heart…one I (oddly) haven’t written much about, possibly because it still feels so big and lifechanging and I’m not sure how to really capture it. I’m not sure this did it either, but here goes…
Something you should know about me
is that the summer of my 16th year
found me
working as a Camp Hope counselor.
Uncharacteristic of me,
I opted to volunteer at a camp
500 miles away from home
without any of my friends,
working with campers
with physical
and mental disabilities,
a population I knew very little of.
I found, quite quickly, that “working with”
meant
“providing care for”–all aspects
of care, 24/7.
I changed
adult diapers;
transferred people
in and out
of wheelchairs;
administered
some heavy-duty
meds;
utilized restraining
holds
when individuals became
combative; pureed
full meals
for campers
who couldn’t eat
any other way;
was hit,
spit on,
bit,
had my hair pulled out…
met some
of the most amazing people,
and…
had
the
time
of
my
life.
At Camp Hope,
I met Danny, who ran at me
as soon as he got off the bus,
full-force, drool running down his chin,
and a crazy, braying donkey laugh–and
such pure joy that I had never seen before
or since.
I met Garnons, who, with raised hands,
led our campfire prayer every night,
a nearly unintelligible mumble that always
ended with “…and God bless marshmellows,
and Stephanie, and Pioneer Camp…”
I met Wendy, who was exactly my age,
wheelchair-bound since she was very young.
Her multiple surgeries and other conditions
had left her requiring
a good deal of specialized care–care that
her dad seemed
completely confident in my ability
to provide (didn’t he realize I was just a
terrified 16-year-old??)
So many people, so many stories…
looking back now, I think I recognize
Camp Hope for what it was for me–
a sort of Brigadoon, hidden away from
the “real world”–a place where ability
and disability didn’t matter, a place where
I learned what
love
really
means.
What an experience beautifully captured with words! You should send it to them!
Julie— the confidence that father had in you allowed you to grow into the role, in your Brigadoon summer. I love your story. We find depths we never knew we had, sometimes, don’t we? What a wonderful experience.
Julie, what an experience you had! Volunteering like that with a heart full of love for people says so much about the giving person that you are! And those last 4 lines say it all.
Something you should know
Is when I was young
I worked as an usherette at the Melody Tent
Leading patrons down the aisle
To watch greatness
I met singer Harry Chapin
Then mourned deeply at his death
Far too young killed in a car accident
I babysat the Lawrence Welk Show’s
Guy and Ralna’s daughter, Julie
And shook Theodore Bikel’s hand
After Fiddler on the Roof
Perhaps this is where I learned
That everyone has a story to tell,
Famous or not,
And we don’t need to be on stage to tell it
We all have a voice that matters
Use it for good
Shout it from the rooftops
Touch as many lives as you can
And now I do…
As a teacher
Heidi, wow, your poem shares a terrific insight and rich experiences about you! I also loved Harry Chapin, especially his song “Taxi.” I adore your lines:
“Touch as many lives as you can
And now I do…
As a teacher”
Fantastic poem!
I loved reading this. I loved the reference to some of the iconic entertainers of my childhood. What I love most, though, is the movement of this poem, zooming in on the past and then leading us down the path you traveled and the breadcrumbs that brought you to where you are now. It also reinforces the blessing of being a teacher and how we are gifted with so many stories that kids are willing to tell.
Heidi, your poem reminds of the behind the scenes stories our students may have to tell, too. We educators have opportunities to create safe spaces, like Sarah has here, where students can tell their stories, too.
Amen, Heidi, what a fabulous message. Everyone has a story to tell, famous or not! Such profound words, yet so simplistically true.
I love learning the impact of your job as an usherette on your life. What might seem like a small thing over the stretch of time led you to touch lives as a teacher. How lucky to have met great performers through your job. “(A) story to tell, a voice that matters” – important lessons from your job as an usherette.
Emily, thank you for this prompt. I couldn’t decide which way to go, but I took the job route. I loved your poem and your attention to detail as a barista even though I am only a tea drinker.
Something you should know…
“Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce”
were the first words to the
Burger King jingle where
I worked right after high school
in 1976 for $2.30 an hour.
It was there I learned,
as a cashier, that all the
faces on paper money
should face the left –
a habit I still have today.
It was there I learned that
while I was “going down the shore”
my Florida-born boss was
headed to “the coast.”
It was there I learned
how to salt and package
fries and onion rings
when the kitchen staff
was too busy.
They are still my favorite fries!
It was there I learned
to multitask – take orders
at the drive-thru,
fill sodas and shakes,
get the food in the bag,
and collect payments
all in a hideous
orange and yellow uniform!
It was there I learned
that my high school sweetheart
was my forever date
when he would pick me up
after my shift and not
flinch at how much I
smelled like the fryers.
It was the first time
I made any significant
amount of money
giving me a new sense
of freedom.
The picture is not me, but it could be with those really big glasses! 🤓😂
I so relate to the faces on money having to all face in the correct direction- to the left. This is a habit I still have today from my first job. I appreciated the repetition of “It was there I learned that” to start each stanza.
I remember the jingle! What great memories. My brother worked for a fast food restaurant and smelled like fries!
So much to relate to in your poem, Rita! Thanks for bringing me back down memory lane today!
I love the little details of things that you learned through that job, especially the ones you carry with you today.
Rita, I can definitely relate to your poem, especially about smelling like the fryers. Ahhh, the good old days! You have me thinking about all those long-ago days. I like how you ended with your feelings about freedom!
Rita, I identified immediately with the jingle, “Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce.” But what I liked was the repetition throughout the poem, “It was there I learned.” So subtly, you share your story with us.
Something you should know….
My dad was a Doctor, a pathologist
I worked in his lab for two summers
Staining slides a beautiful purple coating
Putting specimens in the centrifuge
Something you should know…
The lab techs were typically having a ball
Eating M&Ms at their tables, music playing
Gossiping while looking in their microscopes
Something you should know…
The head tech would get a phone call
She would suddenly say, Yes Doctor, Yes Doctor
You knew that my Dad was on his way
Something you should know…
The techs quickly hid all of the evidence
The mood suddenly shifted from raucous to sober
My Dad could turn the emotions instantly by his presence
Something you should know…
My Dad asked me once, What is fun?
His identity was only that of a a serious physician
Nicknamed Killer Kagan cause he could shoot a look that would stun
Evoking pathos as a pathologist
Something you should know…
We were watching TV once, me and my Dad
It was the New York City Ballet and we were in the kitchen
He looked at me
Something you should know…
He leapt gracefully and turned in the air
Like a ballerina, totally out of character
My Dad, able to let down his guard.
My Dad in that moment, having fun
What a twist at the end…your dad just being your dad. I am surprised the techs weren’t afraid you would tell their secrets to Killer Kagan! 😉
Oh, I how delighted in your last stanza. That was totally unexpected and I smiled as I envisioned him leaping through the air. What a great turn of events and tone in the poem.
Such a beautiful memory, Jennifer! I love poems that remind me to dig deeper before judging someone, and yours did just that!
I LOVE the end twist! Seeing that side of your dad had to be so wonderful for you—and for him.
This is a fantastic description. First of all I was taken with your experience of working in a lab with slides. I always wanted to do that. Then I love the description of your serious Dad who really had a fun side to him that few saw. What a surprise ending!
Emily, thank you so much for this prompt. I thoroughly enjoyed thinking back on my previous jobs and zooming in on one. The way your work at the coffee shop has shaped your habits now, is really interesting–the last line about the crumb shows how minute these habits can be, but present nevertheless.
Something You Should Know
is that during college, I worked briefly in a flower shop.
I used recipe cards to make bouquets out of
alstroemeria, gypsophila, mums, and carnations.
I cared for the outdoor summer annuals from Mother’s day until Labor
Day. Watering them daily in the soft morning light and again
at dusk after the sun’s harsh rays sunk below the flat,
Iowa horizon.
But what I loved most was not the cocktail
of fresh smells when I walked into the shop
nor the ever-blooming array of flowers, it
was the way my synapses fired,
creating and pruning pathways of thought–
to experience exactly how baby’s breath and red
carnations are the simplest human delight.
to flood my brain with serotonin when golden solidago
accented purple asiatic lilies so unexpectedly
to learn (and love) the idiosyncratic
ways to nurture hydrangeas and gladiolus.
Perhaps
that is why, even now, I must know the names
of the blossoms that surround me.
I yearn to learn to care for it
in the way it needs to be
loved.
Wow. I can smell, feel and envision the flowers. The details about the way some flowers go together are beautiful!
Rachelle,
I love the routine of you flower shop job, I can almost smell it. Recipe cards for making bouquets, sounds like fun. Thanks for sharing.
I love flowers and enjoyed reading about your adventures in the flower shop. Unfortunately, the lilies and similar open stamen flowers kill me.😕
This is beautiful- especially your second stanza. This line really struck me – “to experience exactly how baby’s breath and red carnations are the simplest human delight.” I love bouquets and the delight they bring. Your poem brought this simple joy to mind.
Rachelle,
This is lovely and I really enjoyed the names of all the flowers–I wish I were able to name each one I see! You intermix the long flower names with deliciously long words in a most delightful way!
Frost had some
stinkers, too.
(Everybody does.
You know this.)
You can’t have those
yellowed woods with
their diverging roads
without that one about
the uh, you know, um–
Look, you can’t have
“Mending Wall” or “Home
Burial” or “Out, Out–” or
“Birches” or “Acquainted
with the Night” or “Fire
and Ice” or
(Christ, he has quite
a lot.)
without having the one
about the dimpled spider.
(no, that’s pretty good, too)
What I’m saying is just
that it’s a real Truth that
you can’t have great poems
without ok ones, without pretty
crappy ones, too.
Let this poem – the one you
are currently skim reading
(caught you, lol)
Let this one be totally
forgettable, let it simply
languish in the slush pile
of my previous work
and trust me,
it’ll be happy there,
it’ll have plenty of company.
________________________________________________________
Emily, thank you for this fun prompt, your mentor poems, and for serving up this cup of truth about yourself today!
Skim reading, lol! I love how you pull the audience in (I see you doing that a lot and it’s always engaging!). And I’m all on board for some Frost recognition and mid poems need love too! It’s so hard to tell the good ones from the cringy and ones, though. This one I really like!
Scott, your “voice” shines through your poem in a vulnerable way the demonstrates the Truth about writing. By comparing yourself (and in a way, all of us here) to one of the greats, it helps me feel a level of humility and validation on my not-so-great poem days.
Scott,
Thank you for reminding me it is okay to have crappy poems amongst our okay ones. Without those our great poems would not stand out or shine so brightly.
I can’t skim read your poems, Scott, cause I’ll miss all the fun and delicious parts. Thank you for being the writer/poet you are!
Scott,
I always love reading your poems . . . so smart and often funny. This one really grabbed me the way you included Frost!
I would EVER skim your poem, Scott. I’d miss some nuance you were snarking in for our amusement! We all have a slush pile somewhere, I’m sure…
Something You Should Know
is that as a high schooler, I worked at Wendy’s.
I made sandwiches
and when we were slow, I’d stand
at my station, and turn the tall stack
of cheese into a star, piece by piece,
corner by corner so each would be easy to pick up
when the dinner rush came. It felt good
to keep my hands moving, to focus
on something straightforward,
simple. Perhaps that is when I got stuck
inside my head. Perhaps that is why,
even now, I can want so desperately
to stand up straight, but cannot figure out
how to lift my chin towards the light.
Rachel, thanks for inviting us to look onto this tableau. Many of us have worked in fast food restaurants and can relate to enjoying the simplicity of some of the tasks required. Even as a teacher today, there’s something about using the paper cutter that keeps “my hands moving” and focusing on “something straightforward, / simple”.
Rachel,
That slow time making stars out of cheese actually speed up making burgers during the rush. I too remember doing just that when I worked at a local fast food restaurant Bob’s Burger Express. My first job when I was 15.
Rachel, Burger King was my gig, but we also had the “star” cheese going on. I understand how difficult it is to “lift my chin towards the light.”
Love Clint Smith’s poetry! Thank you for this inspiration, Emily. I think we learn all the time; it is fascinating to think how even our most mundane moments form us in unique ways.
Something you should know
as a teenager, a summer job was
scooping ice cream at a favorite spot
(oh how I loved their mocha chip)
so many flavors vanilla chocolate strawberry mint chip more
cake cone waffle cone sprinkles or not, non-stop deliciousness
right?
not.
itchy hair poking around a hairnet
hands so clean and sterile
large tubs in a cold glass freezer case
bend over dig deep hold handle firmly pull glide twist
and all the while my manager hovered and chided
that’s too much you’re filling the scoop too full
I’m going to take it out of your paycheck scooping so much
people are waiting hurry up you need to move faster
I need you over here now don’t bother with that
berate rebuke nag exhaust frustrate
perhaps that is when I realized I never wanted
anyone to think I was bossy, I wanted to lead
by giving space, stepping back a bit, asking what
would help them the most, observing, all the while
calmly patiently guiding towards the higher goal
I quit after one day at that job
I kid you not
and worked countless babysitting gigs instead
Based on your description of your manager, I would have sworn you worked that job for at least 3 weeks. But, what a fun, strange twist! Only one day. I envy your assertiveness.
The line “lead / by giving space” is tremendous, and it gave me pause as I reflected on my own teaching pedagogy. I think the line reaffirmed my desire to be a guide along a journey, rather than act as an authority on a subject.
Thank you for this lovely scoop of poetry!
Maureen,
I love that you quit after one day. I’m imaging you giving that manage an invisible upraised middle finger. Ha! Was the manager a man? Sounds like a man. LOL. Great contrast between the deliciousness of ice cream and the torturous reality of serving it up.
Maureen, this is great! I loved the lack of punctuation in that whole middle section: it was just a barrage of orders and beratements: “bend over dig deep hold handle firmly pull glide twist” to “that’s too much you’re filling the scoop too full” to “people are waiting hurry up you need to move faster.” I’m glad that job lead you to your realization “to lead / by giving space, stepping back a bit, asking what / would help them the most, observing, all the while / calmly patiently guiding towards the higher goal.” I much prefer your way! Thanks for this!
The way you toy with tone from stanza to stanza in this poem is delicious. I want to do that! I am glad you quit that job after one day because that is the perfect ending to this poem (but you learned something so valuable in that day!)
Maureen! I love this! I struggled with one clothing store job for two weeks and quit! The manager had the nerve to say I was making a big mistake and would need her reference one day! Oh well!
This lesson is one for the books! Glad you didn’t suffer long.
Maureen— that center stanza made me snort of breath, just reading it! “bend over dig deep hold handle firmly pull glide twist”—made me anxious even before the manager started berating you! a love this!
Maureen, you capture this memory clearly through your specific details. I’m glad you quit and took this negative experience and turned it into something positive. Bravo!
Maureen, the parents whose children you kept were blessed beyond measure that you were a babysitter with heart! See, I think your heart was so warm you were melting all the ice cream – – you belong with children, guiding them on how to scoop the love of life.
Oh, my Maureen, I love what you learned from the ice cream dipping experience. I think it may have helped you as a teacher to have that attitude with the little ones as they explored your classroom.
That must have been one brutal boss–“berate rebuke nag exhaust frustrate”–and you only lasted one day, and still you learned a powerful lesson from him. Yikes! How would you like to read this poem if you were that manager?
Emily, thank you for the prompt today. The Clint Smith poem is a great mentor, and your poem about espresso and how it has led to your sweeping all the crumbs neatly away. You wrote about your cleaning compulsion so well.
Something You Should Know
is that as a junior in high school,
I worked in the school’s
Work Experience and CETA offices.
First, I was there as part of a class,
but Mr. Jasim and Mr. Moser recognized
my accurate typing skills, my sense of purpose,
and that I could file the paperwork.
When Mr. Moser realized my widowed mom’s
source of income was Social Security benefits,
he said I would be eligible for the federally-funded
CETA program, but I didn’t want to be. I
didn’t like people thinking
I was low income, I always wanted to make excuses–
how I was different than other poor kids.
But I did apply, and in my senior year I made $2.10.
Then it led to a summer internship at a local hospital,
with other CETA kids,
which later evolved into a
union job, with wages higher
than today’s national minimum,
I went through tuition-free public university,
making a livable wage and having full health benefits,
even though I worked only 16 hours a week.
This helped “me put myself through college,”
which I have been known to insinuate.
Perhaps it was not until later–
after tuition was reinstated,
and the unions were broken–that
I realized the great privilege
of coming of age in the 1970’s.
I learned that there is really
no such thing
as boot-strapping.
The government can do good things
The government should do good things
to make the lives of its citizens better.
Denise, ike you, I had SS benefits and know had my father not died when I was in high school I probably could not have attended a private university. We are not self-sufficient islands. Along the way folks helped, and as you say, growing up in the 70s gave us privilege today’s kids have never known. Yes to these final lines:
“The government can do good things
The government should do good things
to make the lives of its citizens better.”
We have to get back to this place.
Denise, There is something so artful about the break of space within these lines, drawing I me into your awkwardness/embarrassment, ‘the gap’ you felt –
And what a profound understanding this work experience yielded-
Your poem is fascinating in so many levels, Denise. Our stories are similar in some ways, but very different in others. I wonder how much of that can be attributed to where we grew up (or maybe I’m just thinking about the crazy school funding laws in Illinois). I’m so glad things worked out so well for you.
Amen, Denise. I know President Reagan was the one who ended so many of the educational benefits I received when I was in college. I understand the plight of poverty, too. Your poem ends with such an important message. Bravo!
Hi Emily,
I am a big fan of Clint Smith and his mentor poem today spoke to me. Your poem shows us the power in those small details of your time as a barista. Your final lines made me think about how I don’t ever clean my plate when I eat. I’m wondering what tiny detail from my past created that habit for me. Thank you for this prompt and for encouraging writing today that I’m sure will generate many interesting stories of our lives.
You Should Know (Talking to Myself)
You should know this by now
You dreamed of being rich and famous
“Hollywood actress marries infamous director”
“Michael Jackson weds leading lady”
You should know this by now
You began acting at age 5
In your bedroom filled with children
Correcting papers you wrote yourself
You should know this by now
Teaching is the lowest paying acting gig
With no assistant producers or set designers
No directors and a script you write yourself
You should know this by now
Your red carpet will be miles long
It might traverse the nation
And fans will span lifetimes
You should know this by now
You will thank the academy
For all the lessons that helped humanity
And for your students who taught you
What you needed to know about yourself
©Stacey L. Joy, April 8, 2023
Stacey,
Sounds as though you know the classroom is the best stage—even if the audience is a captive one! I do love the shift from dream to reality to that lovely image of a red carpet stretching across states and continents. What a ride, albeit an underpaid acting gig, this teaching life is. Amazing poem.
Love “Teaching is the lowest paying acting gig” – it really, really is, yes!! But like all the Oscar and Tony winners, I have no doubt you are cheered like a rock star when you are out and about, seen by your students.
Oh, Stacey . . . I love how much you draw out the comparison of teaching with acting. It’s so true and you do such a fantastic job. The part that grabbed me the most . . .
Stacey, that sight of the miles long red carpet, necessary for spanning the nation and lifetimes of fans is mighty strong imagery, showing us the impact that a teacher has, affecting so many. And I love that shared experience between teacher and student and the lessons they teach us. Day in, day out – we become a part of one another. What a tremendous ending to your piece!
Oh, Stacey, this is so powerful. We are forced as teachers to be on stage at all times. I think your final line is delivered perfectly and frames the overall message so well. I just love this poem so much!! Hugs!
You captured the duality of teachers well. The extended metaphor for teaching as acting is so powerful because there are always two sides of teachers–the public one in their classroom and the private one in other spaces free to be as they wish.
Emily, you and the other prompt writers are really making us dig deep! I recalled my first job other than babysitting. Hey, I was earning 75 cents an hour!
No Worries. Not Me
When I was young, I worked at Kresge’s
Then called a five and dime
Yes, that was way back in time.
I worked in the evenings after school.
Sequestered behind the lunch counter.
I had to punch in on a time card.
The hours were long but not really hard.
When I was in high school, I worked at Kresge’s
As a waitress behind a long counter.
When the cook was on vacation,
I filled in for her; she had taught me the ropes
In the kitchen down in the dark basement.
Prepared plates and food hot from the oven
Were rolled up on a pulley shelf back then
While working as a teen way back when.
Back then, when I worked at Kresge’s
Blacks could not work out on the sales floor.
We could not interact with customers back then.
They kept the lunch counter between,
Was that so Whites couldn’t touch our skin?
I wondered why. It was easier to die
From something eaten than touched.
But working there paid college tuition
So, I didn’t worry all that much
Back then, when I worked at Kresge’s.
The direct and simple tone of this poem makes it all the more poignant — I haven’t the personal perspective you have, but have wondered the same thing many times. I am simply at a loss to understand the ugliness of racism—” back then” or now. I’m so sorry there is a “now” but am committed to a future without it. Thank you for the reminder.
Then, Ann, your response and commitment to making the future better makes sharing this story worth what it took me to unveil! Thanks, so much!
I must say that I was not ashamed working there, just puzzled about the reason I couldn’t work at the cash register out on the sales floor instead of being limited to the space behind the lunch counter. I have many pleasant memories and some funny ones, too. Perhaps another prompt this month will be a platform for telling another episode! 🙂
Take care.
I remember Kresge’s! What great experience (and oh so hard) that must have been, to work in the kitchen as the cook, yikes – I don’t know that I could have done that.
Yes, you could have Maureen, if you had the dream and support. The generation before saw a future and did what they could to help us “realize” it. This “cook” hired four of us from our church and WE ALL earned degrees from four-year college!
Oooooweeee! The message is loud and clear!
What is it like today? Or is it gone?
Anna, this poem. The again and again of the counter, the dark basement, the pully and the couldn’t’s of interaction. You built a poem here that exacts the experience of separateness and the power of being taught the ropes in order to transcend the barriers. Thank you for sharing a poem so personal and poignant.
I think what bothers me the most about this beautiful poem is the acceptance —because that is just how it was. It shouldn’t have been. “But working there paid the college tuition”. How practical, and how strong and how worth it…
Something You Should Know
is that teaching is my second career.
I have previously sold shoes,
specifically, athletic shoes and apparel.
I greeted and served customers;
some demanding and not always so nice.
Which, after most shifts,
left me exhausted from working 9 to 9,
feeling more like sun up to sundown
during holidays and big sale promotions.
I had also previously convinced myself
I didn’t like other people’s kids, until…
I worked in an elementary school media center where
I instantly fell in love with other people’s kids.
Perhaps that is when I conceived the idea I might be good at teaching;
when I realized the importance of building
relationships and connections with students.
Perhaps that is why my second career, so far, has been
my best career. I get to love on other people’s kids.
Donnetta,
Retail work is so hard. Lots of times kids act worse w/,parents than w/ teachers. It’s rather amazing how one path leads to another and can change what we dislike to what we love.
I love your introspection here – and the honesty of,
Absolutely wonderful how you now love teaching, because of loving on other people’s kids. So special!
Such a nice story of how you found yourself in your second career. I can appreciate your feelings of exhaustion with the retail job. I remember when…
I just learned something new about you. Well, your students and the teaching profession are so lucky to have your talents. I am glad your second career is your best career.
Donnetta, isn’t it beautiful to not have expected such a gratifying career to come with “other people’s kids” and be a badass of an educator too!! ♥️
Emily— I meant to thank you with my poem, but forgot. Actually, I am glad, because your prompt has provided more information about our fellow writers than I thought possible. All those hidden facts! The image of the hockey puck espresso is wonderful, y the way. Another thing I’ve never considered…
Something you should know…
My first job was at a party store
but it wasn’t much fun.
Family owned–the owners were
stingy and short-tempered–
and we were always understaffed,
just some high school kids
who worked for cheap
and couldn’t complain
about infrequent salary increases,
paltry and patronizing, and long shifts
full of yelling and indignant condescension.
One day in early summer,
the store was robbed.
I found out as I walked in
to a small cadre of cops
looking me over as they
told me they were pretty sure
it was an inside job.
Looked personal, they said.
And something about the alarm…
Scared and confused,
I told them that couldn’t be,
and after a couple more questions
I was left to work my shift. Rattled,
but seemingly off the suspect list.
Later that summer, on a careless night,
too late at a party, I heard my friends
from the store, discussing how they’d
robbed it. Shocked, my heart sunk.
How? Why? Why didn’t they tell me?
We figured you wouldn’t do it, they said.
Trying to keep you clean, they said.
Something like disappointment
welled up inside me,
there was a circle of trust
and I was outside of it.
I forgot to say, Emily, thank you for the prompt! And your great poem, brimming with imagery! This took me back to something that I hadn’t thought about in a long time.
I love this poem! Of course, I couldn’t help wonder if you’d have written in if you HAD been in the circle, if you HAD been guilty! Either way, you’ve captured the reality of our early years when being in the circle of trust was more important than keeping clean! A bittersweet memory!
What a conundrum here! Crummy job, teenager angst, and your friends didn’t include you because they knew you wouldn’t do the wrong thing. A compliment—And yet, you felt left out. Every teen in the world. What a wonderful, truthful story…
Wow, Dave! I’m sorry you experienced this! I’m also glad you weren’t part of the crew that robbed the store. Your trajectory may have turned into a disaster. Sometimes that circle is a ring of fire.
🤗
Me too!
I love this prompt! I think exploring the mundane in verse can shed light on moments that might have otherwise gone overlooked, and it’s a great way to get to know ourselves better. (As I just did in this mini epic – I guess this moment in my life has had more impact on me than I ever realized.)
Something you should know
is that my very first job was at
Hobby Lobby.
27 years later and it is still
without a doubt the most
boring job I have ever had.
Without a doubt.
I didn’t survive a full month there.
Not because I was bored.
But because I lacked the Hobby Lobby
work ethic. Whatever that means.
But that’s bullshit. I worked hard for that
$4.50 an hour.
Without a doubt.
At the end, the supervisor,
a puggish looking man of
called me into his office
for “the talk.” You know the one.
His tie, a hideous mustard green and
paisley combination, was too short on him
and I remember thinking, “why
is he incapable of finding ties
that fit him properly?”
And then “the talk” began.
I admit I was confused.
Full of doubt.
His rambling statement made
all sorts of references to “good
Christian values” and “idle hands”
“and doing the Lord’s work.”
(27 years ago I was having a crisis of
faith, and I didn’t know who I was.
My religion was slipping away.
I was finding it hard to cope.)
The pug man was still rambling about God
when I realized,
without a doubt
that someone at good ol’ Christian
Hobby Lobby ratted me out. Exposed
my not yet atheism, my not quite
agnosticism. I was struggling to find
spiritual footing, and someone tattled.
That was why I was being fired.
Without a doubt.
But I was just 16. I could barely
function as a teenage boy on my
best day. So defending myself in the
face of this blasphemy was out of
the question.
So I sat there, cowering. Nodding along
where I felt a person should nod.
And then I left, defeated.
Nothing but doubt.
Perhaps that’s why now,
27 years later, I struggle against
authority. We’re told as young fools
that the powers that be are there “for us.”
They will protect, serve, support, empower.
I have my doubts.
I’m older, certainly.
Wiser…maybe.
But I know when I’m not being
protected, served, supported, empowered.
And I’ve lost some of that boyish ignorance
and charm.
I have no problem biting back at
authority.
Maybe not the best way to
walk through life.
But I can defend myself now.
I can stand my ground.
I know who I am.
No crisis.
Without a doubt.
James, I love how your poem calls back on your experience as being formative to who you are now.
I’m glad you took power and mitivation from this.
James, I’m so sorry that this happened to you
that someone at good ol’ Christian
Hobby Lobby ratted me out. Exposed
my not yet atheism, my not quite
agnosticism. I was struggling to find
spiritual footing, and someone tattled.
This vinegar method rather than the honey method, the shunning rather than guiding is precisely the legalistic politics of churches and institutions that drive people away. I’m so sorry.
I agree. This writing helps us find ourselves and draws out some of our deepest feelings at the root.
James, I loved the repetition of “doubt” throughout your poem (and its transformation to the definitive there-is-no-doubt-now “I know who I am” at the end). And I laughed out loud with the lines “and I remember thinking,’why / is he incapable of finding ties / that fit him properly?'” So funny! Thanks for remembering and sharing this today!
“Exposed
my not yet atheism, my not quite
agnosticism. I was struggling to find
spiritual footing, and someone tattled.”
I am so glad that you can defend yourself now. At sixteen, up against a badly dressed man who didn’t care about you, only corporate beliefs…you didn’t have a hope. I am angry for the sixteen year old you…
Perfect description! And shame on that manager for expecting you to have a strong sense of Christianity at a time in life when absolutely nothing is clear to a 16 year old.
Hobby Lobby irritates my whole being. Glad you’re no longer there. 🤣🤣
James, your poem drew me completely into your story. I can feel your awkwardness while sitting uncomfortably listening to this boss ramble on. I especially appreciate your lines:
“But I know when I’m not being
protected, served, supported, empowered.
And I’ve lost some of that boyish ignorance
and charm.
I have no problem biting back at
authority.”
I wish I could go back in time and say some things I never dared to say back then especially to those “powers that be”. Fantastic poem!
James,
This poem hurts my heart. Why that damn puggish man treated you the way he did just honks me off!
The use of “no doubt” and “without a doubt” really works.
Most of all, I love the reflection on this pivotal moment in your life.
Thank you for this wonderful prompt, Emily, I could see so clearly the young Kelly’s Coffee barista! I appreciate her attention to detail which continues to be tucked into every line of your poem. My favorite line—, tidy as a hockey puck!
Something you should know
is that when I was four, maybe five,
I visited the aquarium at Coney Island
with my father, aunts and cousins.
While my father left to check something,
my aunts huddled in a small circle,
facing each other.
An older cousin was tasked with watching me.
In a far corner, I could see a large fish
with with sharp teeth floating in a cage too small.
I tugged my cousins arm. I feel sorry for that fish,
I said. His cage is too small.
My cousin dropped her face close to mine—
her eyes burned small and black
and the veins on her neck throbbed—
Don’t you ever say that, she said so loud
that the circle of my aunts broke open
and they started to cry.
My father hurried back, escorting us all outside
even though we had already paid for our tickets.
His name was Peter. He was a golden boy
with a beautiful smile
who went to college in California because his
father didn’t like his girl friend.
It had been a Sunday. This comforted my mother
and her sisters because that meant Peter
had been to mass and no doubt,
went right to heaven where his mother waited.
I didn’t learn much more until years later.
Browsing a bookstore in New York,
I stumbled on a book listing shark attacks—
Swimming with a friend, the book said.
A Great White Shark. Body never found.
The book didn’t mention that it had been Sunday
or that Peter had no doubt been to mass
and gone right to heaven.
It didn’t mention the clutch of aunts
or young cousin who would love him forever
even though they never met.
Maybe that’s why I’m interested in stories
and events too soon forgotten,
or the lives of people buried in statistics.
Maybe that’s why there’s I’ve a framed picture
of a young man I’ve never met
standing before my grandmother’s house
wearing an oversized white suit,
on his last Easter in New York.
Phew. Ann….this is a memory, beautifully captured in a poetic narrative. I loved the way the mystery from a Coney Island visit launched into family history and a framed photo of an Easter where your grandmother once lived.
Sometimes in our own cages, our innocence is small, too. Perhaps to protect us.
Ann, wow. I love the conveyance of the story about the fish being in too small a cage, and a four-year-old not knowing or caring why all the aunts were in a circle or how they got the bad news. You just knew you had to leave the aquarium too soon. Then the older narrator comes and speaks of Peter, which at first takes a bit to navigate what is happening. What an amazing story, and it is such an honor to him and his memory that you keep his framed photo–the description of which is precious:
Ann,
Holy Cow!!What a poem. The nonlinear structure works so well. I had to reread to assure myself I understood what happened to Peter, and ultimately what happened to that shark, and why the aunts huddled and cried. The cause/effect relationships are stunning. Brian ‘s comment in the last sentence echoes my thoughts. We’re all in cages, framed, barred, constructed by age and others, and so much more. This will stay w/ me a long time.
Ann, this rattles me to my core. I was just out on Saturday with a friend of my son’s who took us fishing. He tags great whites with Ocearch and does the underwater photography for Outcast Fishing. His YouTube documentary Passion Led Me Here led to a lot of questions about these sharks. I was young when Jaws came out, and it petrified me so much as an island kid that I was even scared in the bathtub. I am so sorry about the loss of Peter and so sorry you never got the chance to know him. I pray your family has found peace.
Ann, I have chills from this unexpected shock of a story. You had me so captivated from the moment your cousin dropped her face close to yours and snapped “Don’t say that!” … I am mesmerized by how the fact that he was killed on a Sunday gave peace to the family –
The things we hold onto, in grief.
Powerful poem, Anne! I loved how you you created an ebb and flow feeling to the narrative.
My gosh, Ann. What a story, developed with skill and grace. That turning point, with the golden boy with a tragic ending…the ending with the picture of that golden boy. Wow. Well written, well told.
Revealing Blue
I laid dead on a metal table,
They tried to save Mom
fortunately, they were able.
I came back screaming,
but died again,
guess …I was dreaming.
One more fight to survive,
guess the spirit
wanted me alive.
The only child, because of the drama,
I fought for life,
and so did Momma.
Momma told me this story a million times,
delivered breeched,
choked by birth twine.
I spent months in recovery,
Daddy made multiple trips
‘cause he loved me.
I fought the fight thirty seconds new,
failed, fought again,
finally made it through.
What did I see?
has always,
mystified me.
I feel the cold metal surface,
I hear panic,
I knew there was a purpose.
Or is it because I was told over and over,
as Momma rocked me,
while I clung to her shoulder.
The parts she always left out,
are the parts
I never talk about.
An angel came to me in lightning blue,
motioned me to awake,
so I came through.
Nurses who had left me for dead,
heard my cries of awful dread.
Knowing earth would be a constant fight,
I cried,
wanting to return to the angel’s sight.
Again, I fell into lightning blue,
this time there wasn’t one,
but a few.
Melodies flowed for my return,
feathers brushed my face,
as my cries burned.
One would think after such a fight,
my life would be peaceful
and alright.
But the battle continues daily,
many days,
praying “angels save me”
For my life reason is constantly sought,
maybe there is no reason,
only wishful thought?
A fight is what we are all in,
for lighting brings peace,
and thunder brings sin.
Blessings are abound,
as we walk
upon the earth’s ground.
But eventually we will receive grace,
from the angel
with a lightning blue face.
A blue so deep and clear,
yet it felt so far,
but yet so near.
Like my life that could’ve been a loss,
a constant faithfulness,
a burden, a Cross?
Boxer,
There’s nothing more amazing and miraculous than being in the redeeming light, even if for only seconds! I’m intrigued!
Lightening blue is soothing! You were meant to be and I’m grateful!
Thank you
Holy goodness! This is an amazing story-poem. I envisioned a kind of video of blurred images running, almost like underwater but also a bit jaggedy. And flashes of blue each time – lightning strikes of light and confusion. This is a TRAUMATIC birth! I can only imagine there must be life-long remnants of this – physically, mentally, and emotionally. As we learn more about the brain and trauma – how traumatic events are with us for life and even passed from one generation to the next. Events we might not think about as traumatic – like a planned surgery – is indeed still trauma for our organism to undergo. These two stanzas resonated with me (so many of them did!). These two first lines that show the speaker’s plight but then connect it to the reader. And the role of thunders and lightning shows the connection to nature/universe. Birthing is indeed a natural process – the cycle of life and death – but as sentient beings, it becomes a forever start point of what then unfolds. Wowzers.
For my life reason is constantly sought,
maybe there is no reason,
only wishful thought?
A fight is what we are all in,
for lighting brings peace,
and thunder brings sin.
Thank you 🙏
Something You Should Know
By Mo Daley 4/8/23
Something you should know
is that I love regaling new friends and old
with stories of the things I can’t smell
like middle-school farts,
cottage water reeking of rotten eggs,
and skunk-drenched schnauzer
or the foods I can’t taste,
like long-forgotten garlic,
a sharp cheddar,
and the subtle oaken notes of a buttery chardonnay.
But what I don’t share are the stories about
the bedsores awarded me from an incompetent surgeon
as I lay immobile for twelve days,
or the fear in my son’s eyes when he was asked
if he wanted to learn how to inject me with antibiotics,
or the months of rehab that shattered my body
so that I could put it back together again,
Humpty Dumpty like.
And I definitely don’t talk about
the terror in my husband’s eyes
as he tried to picture a life without me.
Because that would be unbearable.
Mo, yes, I truly never knew any of that! What a magical way you told this story of a life-threatening surgery and rehabilitation and the lingering side effects. Oh, my goodness. The list of odors and tastes that you no longer smell or taste are beautiful in their imagery. You have inspired the senses of all those who still can use these senses.
These lines really show your strength of character and body:
“So that I could put it back together” makes me feel you had a big part in making sure the fear and terror in your loved ones’ eyes did not become a reality.
Mo,
You are such a vibrant, beautiful, amazing woman that I struggle to remember what you’ve endured. Love the Humpty-Dumpty allusion. I feel the fear your family experienced during your recovery. Love the humor in not being able to smell middle school farts. Talk about funding the good in something we take for granted that you’ve lost. Hugs.
Whew! You are a soldier! Thanking God you’re here right now.
Thank you for sharing your truths and your struggles.
So thankful he doesn’t have to picture that life.
I— the things we hide beneath our banter. The terror in your husband’s eyes, the fear in your son’s eyes. How glad I am that you are with us today to tell this story.
Something You Should Know
is that as a kid, I inhaled and hoarded food.
I swallow a half dozen fish sticks
from the cookie sheet before setting
them on the table.
I ate square after square of pizza
to be sure I got my share of
the pie.
I’d eat a second or third hot dog
in their soft buns barely chewing
until they’d inevitably
came up from the hollow leg my
mother would joke held all the food–
that is, the food she could see me eat.
I also hid poptart packages behind
carrot cans and oatmeal pies in the
back of the junk drawer. I’d wake
in the middle of the night
to eat in peace
never quite sure if I’d get my due portions
with the multiple hungry bodies elbowing
their way toward satiation. Perhaps that is
when I began to confuse eating and nourishment.
Perhaps that is why, even now, I can’t trust my gut,
so desperate to take in more and more, but
still not sure if I am full or hungry.
Sarah, You had me right from the first line. I wonder if this is a factor of growing up in a large family. I recall helping to “put away” groceries as a child, which often involved hiding food from my siblings so that I’d get my fair share. I would get up early to eat since my siblings were late sleepers.
Sarah, our relationship with food is complex and layered, as your poem examples. I can’t imagine worrying over getting enough. My worries came from the cost as we had enough but not enough to spare when growing up. I can see all of this as if it were happening. Feel the need and the rush to eat.
Sarah, this is so captivating. Your detailed description of the foods and memories are haunting–the hiding not here and there, but
and middle of the night eating in peace. Wow. What you have learned is powerful for all of us who have struggled with the confusion between “eating and nourishment.” Thank you for your honesty and willingness to open this to us. It helps me be more honest too.
Sarah,
The details of your eating habits are shocking and familiar. I’m reading those last lines as epiphany:
“Perhaps that is why, even now, I can’t trust my gut,
so desperate to take in more and more, but
still not sure if I am full or hungry.”
Yep. I’m this way, too. It’s both the consequence of going hungry as a child, eating really sh*tty commodity food, being denied any kind of treat, and devouring the food we didn’t have at home when at relatives’ houses. I didn’t expect such a mirror today.
Sarah, this is such an important topic (food relationships) and your poem teaches what we all need to know. How we grow up with food can become life-long struggles or victories and too many struggle and don’t even know why. Thank you for being vulnerable.
I know I have food issues, as I commented that I never clean my plate.
Maybe one day I’ll figure it out.
I love that you chose the words “can’t trust my gut” in this sense because we are constantly told the exact opposite.
🤗
My goodness, I can so relate to these revelations…growing up in a big family, sneaking food, trying to get my share.
Sarah—so many layers of need and want here. I grew up in a small family, with no competition for food, but also not a lot of money for luxuries like pizza, which was an occasion for us. “The multiple hungry bodies elbowing their way toward satiation”— a visceral image…
Emily. I love Clint Smith’s poetry and shared “Something You Should Know” w/ students yesterday. I’m impressed you were a barista. That job takes skill and precision.
My poem is inspired by a memoir I began writing in 2018 and by a pet peeve: women of my generation who fawn over men, especially men who can’t be bothered to reciprocate with a wink or a nod, let alone a written response.
Something aging women should know is
When you’re over sixty
your ovaries have shriveled to
the size of sunflower seeds—
if you still have your bits & pieces.
The sixties pose physical risks: Going
braless you might step on a boob, but
lying in bed braless you’re never alone as breasts snuggle against your ribs;
During the post sixty decades
you can feel smooth skin on your face
when in bed as gravity pulls
sagging skin into pooling neck flesh.
At sixty plus you should be over tween
angst of lunchroom conversations about some hot new history teacher.
You’re likely more interested in rising
cholesterol and cottage-cheese thighs than in offering the young history teacher a sneak peak at the money makers newly blossomed out of your
training bra when you lean over the desktop and rest your chin on the back side of your hand, using your elbow & arm as a makeshift kickstand.
Nearing sixty-five the days of your looking at young male teachers with a longing *what if* dream-girl glare has evolved into a realization:
They ain’t all that.
—Glenda Funk
April 8, 2023
My poem didn’t format correctly. Each stanza is actually four lines. Oh well. First world problem!
Glenda,
I love the scene with the history teacher here and remembered that dynamic of new teachers flirting in the hallways and faculty lounge. I never understood how they had the energy for that but realize now it was likely a welcomed distraction from the intensity of teaching.
You made me smile and offered comfort in these lines:
Love a poem that makes me smile!
Sarah
Glenda, I am in tears laughing at this raw and honest truth! It’s almost like you were eavesdropping on a conversation my sister and I just had the other day. Lying down on our backs is the best option for taking a selfie! The face smooths out so nicely. 🤣
I will never forget when my sister was 55 and asked our OB/GYN if she should be concerned about getting birth control! The doctor told her that her ovaries were raisins, no worries! OMG, still funny!
Thank you for this treat! I totally agree, “They ain’t all that.”
So many chuckles that I totally understand/relate to – I am living out, lol – my favorite line being, “lying in bed braless you’re never alone as breasts snuggle against your ribs”
I love your attitude! I’m going to be in my sixties soon and I think the reminder to not take yourself too seriously is great!
Glenda—I love this! This line: “a sneak peak at the money makers newly blossomed out of your training bra when you lean over the desktop” made me snort!
Glenda, this is wonderful! I was shaking my head in agreement and laughing the entire time. You have captured what life is like for an almost 65 year old women. I am right there with you!
Glenda, your poem speaks the truth, and it gave me a great laugh. My dad loved to play this silly song for his friends which was titled “You’ve Got to Have Boobs”. I can still remember most of the lyrics. It’s amazing how hips and breasts can spin a man on his top, and how so many women long for that attention. The ending of your poem is definitely a slam dunk “They ain’t all that”. It’s great to find a man who can take the time to converse in a thoughtful way and one who can acknowledge more than the physical attributes.
Ha! I adore all of this – – it’s so true! The pooling neck flesh has me looking for answers – – is that hyalauronic acid (is that what it’s called??) really worth the money? Because I need to know if it can reverse the pooling. Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous, and I just love all these truths.
Yes, that sounds familiar. I am definitely:
…more interested in rising
cholesterol and cottage-cheese thighs…
Well, maybe in rising cholesterol. Nothing I can do about the cottage cheese thighs.
Something you should know…
I was a key controller in college, meaning
I sat isolated in a concrete box, in a parking garage
Waiting for the valet office to call in a #
Walkie talkie only transferred the tag # chained to keys
No professional conveyance of: over, Roger, affirmative
Although I might have used those in sarcastic response
Valets (all males) ran by as I handed them access to luxury
Silo-ed in this space allowed me to study
As an only child, the alone-ness didn’t bother me
I had no plans to break this glass ceiling
Summer came; my schooling from this part-time gig =
I never wanted to work, cubed in any one place, in monotony
Stefani,
Some jobs are prison-like. Yes, studying is a benefit. But the price is high. “cubed in any one place” is the concrete image that remains in my head.
Stefani,
Thank you for this glimpse into a slice of your life in this concrete box! Of note for me is the valet (all males) and imagining this other dimension of your experience as lovely as you are. That interpretation for me also make me see the hashtags as metoo for a minute. I can also see you poking some fun at the walkie talkie exchanges to pass the time.
Peace,
Sarah
Nicely captured here, Stefani (no pun intended – okay, maybe a little!). I have had students who worked parking booths, and said they were the best gigs for getting paid to study! I can appreciate your acknowledging the glass ceiling. In this case, it’s not really one to break but recognizes how we still have these ‘low-labor’ jobs that are actually quite essential. I think we’re all realizing this a bit more with the ‘labor shortages’ we experience in different areas of the service industry now post(ish)-pandemic. Love the end line – and my wish that it never is you lot again unless you choose it!
Emily, the versatility within this prompt is phenomenal. I swiped a dab of it on my finger to taste its magic, then went to the kitchen to learn what I might cook.
Loved these two lines…So thank you. Thank you for giving life to words that I know I’m likely to play with for several weeks. The possibilities are endless.
Great Northern Mall
(for Laurie Halse Anderson)
~b.r.crandall
I should probably tell you how,
in my teens, I was Al Bundy,
already with a crush on gated apples,
christened by Central New York sun.
(a witness to phoenixes rising from Mexico
& female Lafays (Homer-sexuals)
sometimes landing in food courts.
Al Roker would know this.
(Oswego again with these poems)
It was just me and this pie festival
for Brannock (his own device)
under northern lights & snow squalls,
where size-8 9-Wests went first
& women were malled by
the possibilities of shoes they didn’t need…
(who wouldn’t want another
cinnamon roll from Cindy
or cassette recording of Sinead?)
All the flowers that you planted Mama
in the backyard
all died & went away.
I should tell you, probably, that in my teens
I hid cash in a cookie-tin under my bed,
to pay for prom dresses, property taxes,
& an undergraduate degree.
Not quite a foot fetish, I suppose,
but a boy who kept his eye
on human nature,
tea leaves,
the power of words.
I wonder if I ever spoke with Laurie,
sold her knee-high boots
while Melinda was just a draft
and not the straight lined winds
she’d one day become.
oh you word player
a crush on gated apples,
christened
Kevin
Bryan, love, love, loved the musicality, the imagery, the allusions in this, and made me grin with recognition as a former mall worker (the Galleria in WNY), as a now-CNYer and Great Northern visitor, and as a Laurie Halse Anderson fan. Loved this wordplay:
“while Melinda was just a draft
and not the straight lined winds
she’d one day become.”
Bryan,
Goodness…I am glad I slowed down to read this; when I caught the real references you worked in with Laurie and Melinda, my jaw dropped and its depth. I know I miss allusions in this space because sometimes I am not real informed on pop culture.
This line – who wouldn’t want another / cinnamon roll from Cindy – this line is just great. It nails the consumer culture that the mall so violently shoves in our faces. I also love wordplay of “malled” for “mauled.” Very clever!
I don’t think we had Cindy’s in the Chicago suburbs, but we had Cinnabon. Something both sad and fascinating about this kind of ubiquity.
Thank you Emily for today’s prompt. I love the idea of exploring how our jobs have long term influences on our lives. I love the turn your poem took at the end.
Stable
I lived in a barn
for my adolescence.
I swept it’s aisles,
I numbed my fingers
breaking apart ice in buckets,
and
I sheltered beneath
its wooden beams.
I cleaned, and cleaned and cleaned.
Shrouded myself in bits of hay and dust and horse hair.
At the end of the day,
I flew
through fields and
over logs
with a companion that didn’t require
words.
Brittany, loved your powerful, compact collection of sensory detail and emotion. <3
Brittany,
The image of you caring for a horse and riding
“through fields and
over logs
with a companion that didn’t require
words.”
is gorgeous and ethereal.
Brittany – the double meaning of the title is wonderful. It matches so nicely with the last verse, and I cannot help but find so much beauty in that correlation. I really like the transition from being shrouded to the feeling of freedom experienced at the end of the day. I was so moved, completely able to identify with the emotions expressed in your lovely verses. Thank you for sharing.
Brittany, this is a reminder that the work we put in allows the relationships to form and the ease with which we move through time and space with those we relationship with. Beautiful imagery!
Brittany, that last stanza is so incredibly powerful – – the companions that don’t require words are golden in a world that will not hush.
Something You Should Know
Something you should know about me
is that I was
the National Spelling Bee Champion
of Chautauqua County, New York
for four years running, and made it
to the state competition
at the New York State Fair.
I didn’t win.
That, unfortunately,
was as close as I came
to being a winner.
As a claim to fame,
it was pretty pathetic.
I studied the dictionary,
carried around
the little booklet
of Really Hard Words
and surreptitiously boned up
on esoteric spellings
when I finished early in class.
I was a word wizard.
A phonics phenom.
A spelling savant.
When I was in the Spelling Zone,
words wrote themselves
in the space above my head.
All I had to do was read them aloud.
I wanted to be Julie Malinoski,
who was a cheerleader
and a gymnast
and was small and blonde
and whose nose turned up just so.
Instead, I was the
Buffalo Evening News
Spelling Bee champion
of Chautauqua County.
You probably didn’t know that about me.
Gayle Sands
4/8/2023
I can relate to a lot of this, Gayle. I love the addition of your last line. I won my school spelling be in 8th grade – went to our district’s one and spelled SNEAKER wrong LOL!!! Thanks for sharing – it’s an awesome thing to now know about you 🙂
I meant to say I do this too and you describe it perfectly “words wrote themselves
in the space above my head.”
Gayle, I didn’t know but I’m so glad I do. I can picture you, booklet of Really Hard Words in hand, studying furiously to know them all! (It’s something I would do). My multiple classroom wins never took me further than the county competition (alas, no Evening News report) and I’m sure there was a Julie Malinoski in my life, but I’m also pretty sure your Julie isn’t writing poems as beautiful as yours!
Gayle, so many parts of this sang to me:
“words wrote themselves
in the space above my head.
All I had to do was read them aloud.”
Loved this bit of playfulness:
“A phonics phenom.
A spelling savant.”
And, as a former (and. let’s face it, eternal) Buffalonian, I loved:
“I wanted to be Julie Malinoski,
who was a cheerleader
and a gymnast
and was small and blonde
and whose nose turned up just so.
Instead, I was the
Buffalo Evening News
Spelling Bee champion
of Chautauqua County.”
Great snapshot!
Gayle,
You still are “a word wizard.
A phonics phenom.
A spelling savant.”
What does Julie have from all those cartwheels? Nothing is as valuable as owning words, and you have abundant riches still paying dividends.
I didn’t know this about you, and consider me impressed! I loved participating in the spelling bee…never made it past second place at my school. I am in total love with these two lines
That is spoken like a poet! Just beautiful!!
Gayle, I admire your spelling wizardry. I am a pretty good speller but only when I can write the words. Spelling aloud is not a skill I possess. How I wish
in the space above my head
Emily,
What a great prompt to help us look at who we are and share with our community. I had hoped to write about my stint as the best McDonalds french fry maker of all time, but as usual my heavy heart had other ideas.
Something you should know
is that our empty nest is full again
this weekend
with two plus ones.
The house that once was brimming with
people and a dog
has become pretty used to the quiet movements
of two.
Something you should know
is that I miss having them here so much
and miss knowing who they are
and miss having my purpose.
But, having them here and not truly knowing
who they are and not having much of a purpose
stings
and leaves me sitting on the outskirts
watching and listening and
feeling empty
batting back the tears.
Something you should know
is that my friends say “It’s so fun to hang out
with your adult kids.”
But I’m not a partier and they are.
I sat last night and wondered where the
time went and lamented how
I don’t really know how they became
who they became.
The house was filled with loud voices
talking about things that I know nothing about
(while my quiet heart was still somber
about Jesus’s death).
I felt so alone in our full house.
Something you should know
is that our oldest just came out
and it’s thrown us all quite a curveball.
Of course, we are wrapping her with love
but at 26 it makes us wonder if we ever really
knew her, but I’m sure she’s wondering if
she even knew herself.
There is an elephant in the room
so High Noons and vodka and craft beer
Captain and Diet flow freely and the music
gets louder and louder.
Something you should know
is that my husband and I raised four
kids who are such individuals,
each as different as can be,
which keeps life interesting
and makes it hard all at the same time.
They live scattered about
pursuing their dreams, figuring out who
they are and who they want to be.
Something you should know
is that the one who lives in our small town
is navigating tough terrain and we all
feel like our once open, interactive, and engaging selves
are now solitary and living in a fishbowl
with small-minded people watching and whispering
while we swim around
or possibly while we drown.
~Susan Ahlbrand
8 April 2023
Susan. This was so beautiful. And although I’m in a middle space, occupying more of the child-space in this poem than your speaker’s (I don’t have grandchildren, but am watching my two grow into adulthood), I acutely felt this. Beautifully written!
Oh, Susan. So many parts of this poem are heartbreaking. I’m sorry.
who they are and not having much of a purpose
stings
and leaves me sitting on the outskirts
watching and listening and
feeling empty
batting back the tears.
Thank you for sharing such tough feelings and honest things about you and your family. It’s wonderful to know you are “wrapping” your oldest “with love”.
Susan, your honesty is both breath-taking and heart-wrenching. I felt every part of this. It moved me to tears as well. But that last stanza! Oh, oh. What a gut punch. Keep wrapping with love. It’s the only way to not drown. Hugs.
Susan—how true this rings!! So many parts resonated—we are in the same stage of life, I think—but these words are my life these days—
“is that I miss having them here so much
and miss knowing who they are
and miss having my purpose.”
Its hard to be extra. And I feel so guilty about how I made my mother feel years ago…
Susan,
We are here to help carry your load. All a parent can do is raise their children to be independent and do our best to instill good values in them. Then it’s time to trust them to find their way as we have. When you’ve made kids the center of your universe, the empty nest can be hard. Now you have an opportunity to pursue other interests and to find new ones. Live your life and let your kids know you’re still a steadfast presence for them when they need you. You don’t want them living in your home as adults; trust me on that. Take a class, join a gym, travel, learn to knit. It doesn’t matter what you do, just do stuff for you.
Susan, you have written so beautifully into this life transition, being in the company of your adult children. Those last lines are so painful – I ache for your child and the ‘small-minded people watching and whispering’.
Susan, I can relate so closely to your feelings here – – kids whose futures don’t turn out the way we thought they might. I’ve been right there, my friend, still am. I think the toughest part of parenting was never the sleepless nights when they cried in our arms all.night.long. It’s the sleepless nights when they are adults and they’ve long since left our arms and we can’t hear their cries. The third to last line strikes me – – the small minded people. They’re everywhere. But in the mix, there are so many who have stood, are standing right where you are. They, we, stand with open arms and understanding hearts.
Love this prompt, Emily, and what a great couple of mentor poems to offer. I’m old enough to have way too many options to choose from here, but for some reason, I felt the need to ‘confess’ this one today! : )
Something you should know…
When I was a kid
I used to clean house
for my mom’s boss
On Saturdays the boss lady
would drop me off
then pick me up
two hours later
Of course they trusted me
knew I was a ‘hard worker’
Indeed – it never took me
more than an hour to clean
I’d crank up the stereo
dance the vacuum
through each carpeted room
scrub the tub and toilet
to a shine and dust
without ever breaking
When I was done
I spent that extra hour
rummaging through
every drawer, nook, and cabinet
I learned so much about
ladies padded bras
silk stockings, jock straps, and
hiding pornography, candy
and old love letters
I’d help myself
to the fridge and cupboards
sampling snacks I’d
never had the luxury
to know about
careful to put everything back
just as I had found it
(something Dad taught us kids
whenever we asked to borrow a tool)
Then when I saw
the boss car drive up
I’d have the Pledge can and cloth
poised just right over the mantle
so she’d walk in to see me working
“Careful around those figurines,”
she’d scold. “Those are from China.”
As if I didn’t know that
and so much more about her.
Denise,
This was great! That shift in Stanza 4 — I guffawed at your youthful impudence. And the end was so satisfying as everything is seemingly restored to “normal” — loved the disdainful couplet. Great voice in this.
Denise—superb! I did cleaning at about he same age. So much to discover in a house that is not your own! The last stanza made me giggle. So true!!
Denise,
This is great!! Your words shove me into this scene and I can see it, feel it, smell it.
I love that you are so honest and share with us the truth of snooping around. Don’t we all do that at some point?
Denise,
Wowza! This confession is golden. The irony in the trust, the contrast in cleaning and snooping. My favorite stanza:
“When I was done
I spent that extra hour
rummaging through
every drawer, nook, and cabinet
I learned so much about
ladies padded bras
silk stockings, jock straps, and
hiding pornography, candy
and old love letters”
Reminds me of cousins who snooped through my grandma’s undies. My grandpa knew and told me so. What he never knew is I looked, too. Haha!
That last line, however, ties the poem up into a neat, tidy, freshly cleaned masterpiece:
“As if I didn’t know that
and so much more about her.”
Denise, I love this glimpse into your cleaning escapades. Such thrilling adventures! I have a friend who used to have a cleaning business, and oh – – the stories! I am convinced that cleaning ladies have the most exciting lives of all of us – – they know all the secrets, know all the truths, hold the cards!
Emily, I am so captivated by Smith’s poem – partly because of the hermit crab, as I had one growing up – but mostly for his beautiful craft. This is an exquisite mentor text and invitation. Your own poem builds beautifully to that intense need to have “everything in its place.” I can feel it; your words make me want to do the same. I am sitting here sweeping at imaginary crumbs as I think about the self-awareness this prompt evokes. This is the second poem I wrote in response this morning – changed my mind about the first one. Thank you for such inspiration!
Something You Should Know
is that the summer I was eighteen
I waited tables
at an upscale restaurant
in a colonial tourist destination
I learned that young waiters
would not waste a good steak:
they’d help busboys clear plates
and carry them to the kitchen
where they’d pick the meat off
before scraping the rest of the food
into the big gray receptacle
where they’d stand, leaning over
to eat it with their hands,
passing a bottle of ketchup
back and forth
savages, said the manager
but she didn’t stop them
I learned that life lands people
in strange places at strange times
because I never heard the whole story
of our oldest waitress, white-haired
and short, who said she once made a killing
on tips at fine restaurants in Paris
(she did have a French accent
and she got the biggest tips
of any of us)
I learned how to calculate fifteen percent
of a tab in my head, lickety-split
and how few people bother to leave
a decent tip
I learned, when the bartender howled
with laughter, that a customer wasn’t
asking for Grandma Yay in her coffee:
“It’s Grand Marnier”
—he was still wiping his tears
when I carried it away in irritation
yet because of him, I first fell in love
with coffee
when I came to work with a headache
and he poured me a cup
added cream and sugar
(no Grandma Yay)
of divine elixir
which healed me
and most of all
I learned a lesson
in grace
when I was given my first
big party
not realizing that
I should be taking the water glasses
off opposite sides
of my serving tray
instead of around…
I learned this when
four full glasses of ice water
tumbled down
a lady’s back
whereupon I dropped my tray
and ran to the bathroom
sobbing in horror
until the manager
(with hair in a tight topknot
and a face that could carve wood)
burst in to say
Get back out there. Now.
They are asking for you.
They don’t want
anybody else.
so I did
and these beautiful people
assured me
the lady’s dress wasn’t ruined
and they left me the biggest tip
I ever received in my brief
table-waiting career:
twenty bucks
(more than fifteen percent)
I suppose now you know now
I was never cut out for the job
but it has made me appreciate
every other one since
Dang – ignore the two nows in that line near the end! (Just read the one that sounds better to you, lol)
Fran, I had to go back up and double check to see that you had mentioned the type of restaurant (upscale) when I read “few people bother to leave a decent tip.” I’ve heard that those with less leave better tips because they appreciate the work more (acknowledged in your last lines). I can hear the laughter as Grandma Yay and your insertion of it in parentheses later is perfection and makes me feel as if I’m right there, with all the irritation. I’m so glad you took another shot at your poem today (though I know the first one is just as good).
Fran, I was RIVETED to your retelling! I gasped audibly when that water tumbled. And your “Grandma Yay” moment! Oh, those cringey moments in our young working years that we blush to remember. (Also, have you read Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danier? I’d highly recommend it.)
I haven’t read it, Wendy, but I have just added it to my shopping cart along with two other books fellow VerseLovers have recommended to me in the past couple of days – another thing I so love about writing in this community of extraordinary people! Thank you!
This poem has all the emotions – “Grandma yay” 🙂 I can’t lie and say I never ate some leftover food from people’s plates. I’ve worked at sushi restaurants so kind of a sin to leave on a plate. I remember you talking about the bartender who made you fall in love with coffee in your coffee poem and it’s cool to read more about him 🙂
Fran,
Theres so much to learn from serving other people. I value my days waiting tables and recall a similar incident when a colleague dumped a try of drinks on a table. They and all laughed. The only day I didn’t want to work is Sunday. Worse tippers arrived after church on Sunday. Insightful. I suspect the servers who are customers’ food were hungry. It’s gross, yes, but so is good waste.
Fran— the things you learn while waitressing prepare you for almost anything in life!! I waited table from the age of 16 to after college. I, too, spilled a cold drink down the back of a customer—but they weren’t as nice as yours were… And the Grandma Yay!!!!!!! I absolutely loved this walk through your waitressing career! Thank you!
Steak never went to waste…nor did lobster tail. Who leaves lobster tail, anyway!!??
So many wonderful restaurant vignettes woven into this poem…this work is so educational, I think. I loved your words here,
Such an image! The contrast of these waitstaff eating leftovers with their bare hands – in the back of a fancy restaurant…
I’m howling over here with the Grandma Yay. And the (more than fifteen percent) because, you know…..math. This is such a fun experience, being kind of like a fly on the wall seeing it all and realizing that in these frustrating moments, your love of coffee was born.
Emily, thanks so much for today’s prompt. What a great topic! I love Clint Smith, so thank you so much for sharing his poem; I definitely using this prompt on Tuesday back at school to start my Creative Writers on their poetry unit. I loved your poem and the image of that little hockeypuck espresso pellet, packed so neatly. It spurred a much different memory for me. (I tabbed in every other line, but I don’t know if it will show up that way.)
Something You Should Know
Is that, when barely a woman, I worked at
The Chamber of Chills – you
know, a thrill house, of sorts –
and that I was the Screaming Chainsaw Chick
and that, nightly, a madman scarecrow
lopped off my arm (prosthetic, of course)
to the amusement of hundreds and
it was one of the best times of
my life, that rush, that feeling
of power when I knew that
I held all in thrall, that I had the power
to make people quake in their shoes,
drop to the floor and crawl from that room,
screaming in fear, almost-grown men, even,
and that the scariest part of it all was not
the chamber, itself, nor the insane make-up of
my fellow actors, nor the jumpscares
or the cheap thrills, but the blushed rush
that aweful power gave me.
Wendy – I LOVE THIS! I loved haunted houses as a teen and I once worked as a performer at a theme park… oh, the STORIES. I was living in your shoes, feeling the thrill, the power of the glorious horror of being the Screaming Chainsaw Chick. Did you rehearse your scream to make it as bloodcurdling as possible?? This was so delightfully real – I savored every deliciously dark detail!
Fran,
LOL! I’m glad you liked it and understood — I felt like it might have sounded weird to reveal how powerful (and weirdly satisfying) it felt to scare people. (And, yes, I rehearsed the scream!) XD
Oh, Wendy! This is so, so good! Your assonance choices (blushed rush, all in thrall) is a needed pause, a softening, within the thrilling stream of this one sentence rush of fear. I love what you did with “aweful” and that power is the scariest part. So much truth and it twists nicely at the end. Well done!
That job is pretty awesome. There is a haunted house in Baton Rouge probably the best I’ve been to where the people would follow you around and not stop, so scary. It’s cool that you enjoyed scaring people. I probably would too 😀
Wendy, I always knew “the Screaming Chainsaw Chick” had a poem in her. What a brilliant confession of the species we are! Wonderful!
Wendy,
Your job in the chamber sounds like perfect training for teachers. JK! As Stephen King says, we love being scared. It’s a way to work through our fears. You provided a service!
Wendy—best tale I’ve read so far!! Screaming Chainsaw Chick!!?? And that term, blushed rush— perfection. I can understand the thrill of your power…
Wendy, yes! You wrote straight to the bone-chilling bone today, right into the marrow. I love that you showed how that kind of power can go spinning out of control in a real way if mishandled, but kept chained to the chamber of chills, it was appropriate. That’s the raw feeling and the truth, and you got there today, friend!
Emily, I found this prompt to be meditative, as a stream of consciousness means of writing, and greatly appreciated that. The image of the tamped and tidy espresso is satisfying as you describe it against the notoriously messiness of the grind. And the m’s repeated in meticulously and manage offer an mmm…mmmm…mmm to the tidiness. Thanks for the glimpse into you and your early world today.
Something You Should Know
is that my sister and I used to play school
in the antique desks my parents had bought,
refinished, and Santa-gifted us one Christmas.
She was always the student,
along with our stuffed animals,
and I the teacher.
Handmade handouts of math pages were the busy work
I assigned by the handful
(our father taught math).
Barely looking at the results,
I swirled quick smiley faces at the top.
But when it came to reading and writing…
We read aloud (me to her during reading time
and her to me for practice time)
and wrote unloud (sitting side by side, a pair,
no longer teacher and student,
just pencils softly scratching paper).
Those handwoven words became
heartwoven,
weaving their way inside me.
And that is what I carry with me now,
an ee cummings kind of love
(i carry it in my heart)
Jennifer, I adore ee cummings… that reference at the end perfectly crowns your poem. The images of little you and your little sister so intent on your school-play are so clear and real that it’s like watching a movie clip. I played school a bit with my own sister but not like this, with true dedication…and I never once imagined, then, that I’d BE a teacher. The part that pulls on my heart the most is how you two wrote side by side, no longer teacher and student, “just pencils softly scratching paper” – oh, I love that.
Jennifer, I loved this whole memory, but that last stanza was the bomb! Made me teary-eyed.
Ah, Jennifer – you are so good with words. “wrote unloud” – wonderful. Also, I just love how you “swirled quick smiley faces at the top” – I can picture it and I like how it shows you were still just a child (I think). Lovely. Thanks for sharing.
Jennifer,
Love the e.e. cummings allusion. I thought about how childhood games impacted my teaching, provided that early training of learning to instruct, explain, give directions. These, too, I carry in my heart. Thinking about those moments and yours is tugging at my heart and filling my eyes.
Oh, Jennifer— this poem touched me way down in. The two of you “wrote unloud”, the handwoven, heart woven words. An ee cummings love. What more is there?
Jennifer, I loved how childhood play shaped so much of who you are now!
Love!!!!!! It’s the way you became but always were the teacher with “an ee cummings kind of love.”
♥️♥️♥️
Something You Should Know
Is that after college, I worked with dogs.
I peddled natural, grain-free, high protein
Food, and consulted customers on the
Yin and Yang energies of different foods.
I slung 40 pound bags of food onto shelves
From pallets. At one point, I could stack two.
On sunny Milwaukee days, I carried heavy
Bags to trucks, enjoying the lake breeze.
For extra hours, I dipped rags into buckets
To shine the black shelves free or dust.
To escape customer chatter, I parked
Myself in the warehouse, Saran-wrapping bones.
At the end of the day, I’d walk the mile
Home to our apartment, trudging in snow
Or speed-waking through spring, summer
With my headphones on, losing myself with music.
In the business of children and teaching,
I remember these slower days, wishing to
Sling bags of food, pet a furry head, or lose myself in music and thoughts once more.
Jordan, I’ve always said that if I left teaching, it would be to a more mundane job, requiring little interaction, much lost in my own thoughts thinking, and a slower pace. You’ve captured that so well here. I feel the Yin and Yang between the food peddling and the business of teaching. (I need a dog food rec BTW).
Jordan, your poem makes me realize how sometimes I long to have an “easier” job like back in the day – “I remember these slower days, wishing to…” thank you.
Jordan,
Oh, boy, can I relate! It is no wonder that so many of my fellow teachers paint houses during the summer — that feeling of manual labor, of accomplishment and finality that accompany jobs like these, was captured beautifully in this poem — there are moments I wish I was working retail again and that my only obligation was making sure that the sweaters were neatly folded on display for customers. XD
Jordan – you had me at “dogs”. And you had me remembering the strength of youth, with that image of you stacking two of those heavy bags at once. I loved the appearance of the lake breeze and the escape from customer chatter (as silence is more than golden, sometimes) and even the mile-walk in the snow. I so understand, and so often feel, that same yearning in your last stanza. Aside: I once heard a that there is more regulation of dog food production in the U.S than there is in standardized test production… food for thought.
Jordan— those jobs really did provide a certain satisfaction. And teaching, with its million decisions every day, is satisfying in a different way, but exhausting. Pet a furry head, sling a bag of food. Not a bad gig…
I love this prompt, and anything Clint Smith, and how your poem gives me a back story to your life journey.
Something You Should Know
after Clint Smith
is I became a teacher the summer I turned 15,
volunteering for “Operation Life Enrichment”
Ole’!
We gathered the underprivileged children
from the dregs of Jackson Public Schools–
children struggling to read and know things
like zoo animals and swimming pools and reciting
the ABC song.
Their skin the color of cafe ole, smooth caffeine
that entered my veins in their hugs,
their fingers in my soft blonde hair.
I learned how to cradle their heads
singing to them in lyrical language
of picture books.
I knew then as I know now
my passion, my calling, my purpose
is in my love of teaching.
Thank you for sharing the background of your teaching calling. These lines are a particularly lovely image for me:
I learned how to cradle their heads
singing to them in lyrical language
Margaret, love the beautiful picture you paint here of finding your calling. I felt the love here, especially:
“I learned how to cradle their heads
singing to them in lyrical language
of picture books.”
Beautiful imagery!
Margaret, I love the image of you cradling their heads and singing, beautiful. It would be fun for all of us to use your topic as a mentor to share out own teaching journeys in a further prompt. Thank you for sharing.
“Their skin the color of cafe ole, smooth caffeine
that entered my veins in their hugs,
their fingers in my soft blonde hair.”
Margaret, you paint a picture of joy and calm and love. I’d like one of those moments right now. Thank you…
Margaret, what a beautiful poem. I love how you show your first experiences with teaching and how this inspired your passion. Your poem flows like a loving poem to all your students. “that entered my veins in their hugs” wow, that line is amazing!
Margaret, the rich imagery of cradling a head, seeing the skin colors and your hair color and hearing you read books that set the stage for your interest in teaching is such a tender and sweet glimpse into your life and where your passion began.
Emily, thanks for the prompt today. Your poem reminds me of my husband. He is the neat one in the relationship, haha!! 🙂
Something you should know
is that I usually wake up to the sun rising
but at one point in my life,
the sun was my moon.
Pandemic teaching via google meet
between the times of 10pm and 1-5am
the epitome of distanced learning
a distance of 8,000 miles.
This was a struggle for middle-day-bear me
already low energy and just wanting sleep
work starting way past my bedtime
wondering where the adderall at?
The delirium was real –
red eyes from screen fatigue
stumbling over words;
no amount of coffee
could make my brain work.
I could go on and on about
the difficulties but the situation
proved my life’s privilege
keeping a really flexible job
in the midst of a crisis
making my mom her morning coffee
before falling asleep in silence,
in comfort after chaos
If anything, I had more freedom.
Mom and I went to the beach
on the last day of “school”
I met with my 6th grade class
brought my laptop, checked the hotel wifi
and we watched Cruella together.
The chat box blew up
some expressed excitement
others probably slept behind the screen.
Then we said goodbye for the last time.
whether big or small
I try to embrace moments in life,
open my arms, grateful for it all.
This is a powerful poem on many levels, Angie
I found this early line the hook in:
at one point in my life,
the sun was my moon
Kevin
Forgot to add the pic, hehe.
Love!!
Angie, you bring the feeling of delirium to life here in your verse today, showing us how the brain wouldn’t even work with coffee and the days and nights (the sun was my moon) got mixed up and the world seemed off its axis. I’m glad you now embrace the moments of gratitude in your life. I celebrate you today!
This captures so much about the struggles of pandemic life, how you got through it. Thanks for sharing this experience.
I can’t even imagine how hard this must have been, Angie! But this poem does a beautiful job of balancing the highs with the lows. I loved this image:
“Mom and I went to the beach
on the last day of “school”
I met with my 6th grade class
brought my laptop, checked the hotel wifi
and we watched Cruella together.
The chat box blew up”
What a time this was — those kids were lucky to have you.
Angie, I love the layers of stories/memories here…I want to learn more. Thank you for sharing the image in addition to your words.
I cannot even imagine… you share the experience eloquently and it makes me tired just to read it!
Angie, dang! I feel bad for all my whining during remote teaching! I had it easy but thought it was impossible! You nailed it here because all of your struggles come through along with the grace you maintained during such difficult times!!
🍎
Emily, that simile of the hockey puck in your poem and how things are so orderly today because of the coffee barista job – what a delightful reason to be so neat and tidy! I wish I had your discipline. The prompt is so much fun, and I’m happy to be writing with you this morning. I just rambled. Sometimes I use a Sarah strategy I learned several years ago: just write for 10 or 15 minutes and see what you get. That’s what I did today. Thank you for investing in us as writers today and building the sense of strong community that we share here so that we can get to know our writing friends even better.
Something You Should Know
is that I only moved my lips when Mrs. Flexer
played Living For Jesus all those Sundays
in the big group before small group
because I can’t sing except with
my heart
and that I just acquired the old oak secretariat that
has been in my parents’ home since I was
a baby in Kentucky along with the old red
milk can for my porch, but back to the
secretariat: I love that it shares
the name with the greatest horse
who had to win in Kentucky first
to win the Triple Crown
and that as a child I was mesmerized by Harold Monro’s
poem Overheard on a Salt Marsh
from Childcraft Volume 1 Poems and Rhymes
with the nymph in the green dress
and it’s framed by my bed today because
I’m still mesmerized by it
and that I savor Saturdays with morning coffee
and good conversation
and that I love plants but can’t grow them
because they all die except Leafy Jean and
Leon Russell, who are thriving on the front porch
and that I have four bluebird eggs in one birdhouse
and baby Carolina Wrens in my garage
up over the garage door apparatus
and Brown-Headed Nuthatch hatchlings in another birdhouse
and fledgling cardinals in my Yellow Jasmine vines
and a nest under the porch eave
and I saw an eagle a week ago
and that all three of my Schnoodles have literary names
Boo Radley for obvious reasons
Fitz because of, you know, the party animal F. Scott
and Ollie for my favorite poet Mary Oliver
and that I blog daily and call all my writing group
people my friends
including you.
Hi Kim! I feel “because I can’t sing except with / my heart”. Me also. I also love that you name your plants. Thank you for sharing more about you. I love that we get to know each other this way 🙂
I am a fan of the morning ramble and yours is full of descriptive details, so much that a thread connects the ramble.
Kevin
Good morning, Kim! What a great way to learn more about you, my friend! The “just write” strategy works so well in your poem. I love how you told several stories within a poem. I already knew about your dogs’ names, but not about birds and plants. This is so you— making all your surrounding a community or family. Thank you for sharing!
Don’t you love how this prompt helps us get to know each other on a different, more personal level? I love that you are so attentive to nature, the birds you provide safety for, your dogs. Thanks for being a part of my daily writing group.
Kim, I loved these images, every one! And the love in the last stanza was just great — I, too, refer to this group as my writing group friends when I mention it to other people. I adore your dog names and your plant names, lol. This poem did a beautiful job of revealing who you are. (And I’d love to know your trick for retaining the structure of your poem when you posted, btw.)
Kim,
Im so glad the succulents are still alive! Congratulations on that. And I’m always happy when the schnoodles pop into a poem or a blog post for a wave. I know the formatting messed up, but I love the physical appearance of your poem today and am seeing the total picture in my mind. I’ve said it before and will again, these writing groups build the best friendships, and writing is the best way to get to know friends, including you.
What a precious share! Such delightful openness. I am smiling at the image of you up there pretending to sing, and your ‘reasoning’ shows how important music is –
Kim, I loved the shape of your poem. It felt personal and conversational. I also loved that you named your plants!
Something you should know
is that my first summer job
was taking inventory
at an auto parts store.
It was filled with parts
I had never heard before,
but I was a quick study.
I was one young woman
working among men
with calloused fingers
and grease-stained hands.
They loved to tease me
and pull pranks.
They sent me on deliveries
to ramshackle places
surrounded by chain linked fences
and curls of barbed wire.
Chained dogs barking furiously
Leaping at me, inches away.
Once they sent me out
in the old rusty Mustang,
whose brakes they knew were shot.
I careened down the steep hill.
Quick thinking – I crashed
into a pile of old tires.
They laughed, I fumed.
Never to return.
Well, if that’s not an early experience of sexual harassment, then I don’t know what is. Thank goodness you/the speaker survived that experience. But isn’t that the truth for so many women – we survive these experiences in our lives that were “just a joke.” It’s utterly infuriating, and, as here, also shows the strength of character we have to build in ourselves to not only put up with it, survive it, but also continue on, and in some cases when we are able, to walk away from it. The “Never to return.” is the most powerful line – I see for the speaker to not have to endure such BS anymore, but I also wish it were for the perpetrators, too, to never return to their BS behavior. But that’s a long way off, I fear. Nicely captured here, Joanne. Even as it makes my blood boil this morning. I’ll go back and listen to Kevin’s guitar playing again to balance it out! : )
Oh my, Joanne. I’m sorry for this unfortunate first job of yours. I’m glad you never returned! Your description is so vivid, I can picture myself there and glad I wasn’t 🙁 thanks for sharing.
Gosh … what idiots they were (and maybe still are)
Kevin
Joanne, I am so glad you were not physically hurt or worse. Those boys’ actions were inexcusable. I’m also glad you were a quick thinker to crash into the tires. I would have gone over a cliff or something. I’m so glad, too, that you wrote this. Though it doesn’t bring justice for what they did/could have done to you, your writing friends now know what happened, and we know you are made of tough stuff. Those boys couldn’t handle you. And you showed ’em. Your departure was THEIR loss, and rightfully so. You are now in a group full of people who take you up hills and show you vistas. Stay here with us, where it’s safe.
Joanne,
I love the shift in this poem, as you refer to the “teasing” and “pulling pranks” and then pivot to stanzas that paint the dangerous scenarios they set you up for. Jerks!
Joanne, Something tells me there are a million and one ways you can approach these experiences (with details too true to be made up). What a first job!
The grit of of the every day & its influence on how we see the world.
I want to day everything that Denise said! The delivery trips to danger and sending you off in a car with failing brakes is infuriating. You tell the story powerfully but it is enraging. So glad that you never returned.
Something you should know …
is late night boredom
on the third shift at
the gas station garage
fed my desire to learn
the acoustic guitar
and know that, that guitar
was my brother’s guitar,
kept in the case with broken
clasps after the crash
of his car
I used his handwritten
notes to learn a few things,
like where to place fingers
on strings, strumming beneath
moon and star
I’d lean back in my chair,
past midnight when no one
cares where you are,
writing soft songs on my
brother’s guitar
Kevin
Wow, this is beautiful. I can hear that acoustic guitar. Love the line – past midnight when no one cares where you are. Sets the tone perfectly.
Thank you, Joanne. This was a tricky one to write this morning …. I appreciate the comment.
Kevin
With some of my guitar layered in …
Eh, try this link instead (sorry)
Awwww, Kevin. This is so sweet. I can smell a mixture of car fluids and sawdust and wet concrete as I read this. My favorite line: “past midnight when no one / cares where you are.” OMG. My favorite time of night now makes sense to me as the most introverted time of day. : ) Loved the recording as well. Thank you for this precious morning moment.
Thank you, Denise, for reading and listening and commenting.
Kevin
Yes, beautiful. I love the addition of you learning with “his handwritten notes” – so old-school and tender. Thank you for sharing, Kevin.
Kevin, this is one of the reasons I love this prompt so much – – we learn so much about each other. I’m so sorry about your brother – – and know now that you have an even stronger bond with music than I ever realized. The celestial bodies play such a role here and I can see that the stars were in their perfect alignment as you wrote these lines. Deep, moving, and beautiful as I listen to the notes.
Thank you, Kim.
Really beautiful poem and it’s so subtly musical with your rhyme pattern and then the internal rhyme and alliteration that you use when you switch the pattern. Thank you for sharing your playing too! I really enjoyed hearing your music.
“Writing soft songs on my brother’s guitar” is a strong image of how you became the musician you are today. My brother is our musician. I could write about how he kept me up at night playing and replaying records to memorize their sound in his head.
Kevin, what a peaceful and imagistic scene you set —
i could just picture it, and I loved this best:
“I’d lean back in my chair,
past midnight when no one
cares where you are,
writing soft songs on my
brother’s guitar”
Kevin, you rocked this poem. It’s stunning…narrative….telling…exploratory…emotional…nostalgic…beautiful.
Full circle right here. Art.
Thanks for seeing the structure, Bryan
Kevin, what is so lovely and amazing is how you produced an audio/musical/digital version of this all before many of us were awake. Your poem and words are so authentic and heart-warming, thank for sharing with us today.
Kevin,
In tears. I’m not sure if this was meant to honor your brother but I feel the love deep in my heart. Your voice and the guitar took my breath away. You are a gift! Thank you, Kevin.
🌘🌟
Yes, it was to honor him and to remember how his presence helped shape some of musical life, Stacey. Thank you
Kevin, You have such care and precision with your vivid details — and such a clear musical rhythm throughout your poems. They are consistently wonderful. (I also really enjoyed hearing the “soft song” in your recording today.) Thank you!
Kevin, this is so poignant! Thanks for giving us a glimpse into a very deep, personal piece of your heart.