Open Write is here for you every month. We are teachers writing poetry in community–mending our souls and bringing the joy of writing in community back to our classrooms. Today is our last day for the June Open Write, but we’ll see you again next month beginning on July18.
Our Host
Leilya lives in Ponchatoula, LA, a small town celebrated for its strawberries. She teaches and coordinates the English Education Program at Southeastern Louisiana University. Preparing future English teachers, she hopes they become caring, competent, and effective educators. She is an editor and contributing author of Where Stars Meet People: Teaching and Writing Poetry in Conversation. Her other books are devoted to teaching young adult literature in high school. Leilya loves people, cultures, and their rich traditions. She reads, writes, listens to music, visits her children and grandchildren, and enjoys traveling with her husband.
Inspiration
Trips do not end when we unpack our bags. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t bring at least something from a trip. As for us, we bring photographs, ticket stubs, sand in our shoes (if we came from Florida), maybe a couple new phrases. Sometimes, the most meaningful souvenirs cannot fit inside a suitcase.
Process
Write a poem about a souvenir, whether it is real or imagined. It may be something you bought, something you remember, something emotional or invisible, or something unexpectedly small but meaningful.
You might:
- describe an object and the story attached to it
- write about what you carried home emotionally
- focus on one sensory memory
- create an imaginary souvenir from a dream trip
As always, you may ignore the prompt completely and write about anything you would like to share with us.
Leilya’s Poem
What I’ll Bring Back
Not just postcards
or little cups painted with lemons.
I’ll bring back
the bitter comfort of espresso,
sunsets stretched over tiled roofs,
train rides between unfamiliar towns,
and the sound of our laughter,
unburdened of daily worries.
I’ll carry home
a few Italian words,
a stranger’s smile somewhere
in the hills of San Gimignano,
pictures I may never print.
I’ll keep a handful
of special moments,
newfound connection,
and saying yes
to la dolce vita
for a little while.
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. 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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Leilya,
Thank you for this prompt that allowed me to explore what I value most from travel. I had such an amazing time in Portland w/ Kim, so she’s my muse today. I’m looking forward to seeing your fun in Italy via photos and descriptions. I too love the coffee I discover while wandering the globe.
Souvenirs
A map is a suggestion,
not an instruction manual,
not a to-do or must-do list.
You’re not required to follow travel influencers.
You don’t have to snap selfies or
pose at instagramable spots
along scenic byways.
You can go slowly,
take the journey at your own pace, and
stop to greet strangers who
embrace wanderlust like you.
Learn their names,
share their travels,
make new friends—
if only for a brief moment.
This is what my friend calls “peopling.”
They too offer sites to visit,
stories to gather,
souvenirs collected in memories.
Glenda Funk
June 23, 2024
Ah, I love this. It was fun to read both yours and Kim’s poems about “peopling.” I get thought of that as a means to gather souvenirs of a trip. You two have inspired. This is precious–going slowly, greeting strangers, learning their names…and collecting memories.
Glenda, the trip was so much fun, and having time with you made it so much better. I treasure the memories we made together, and will cherish the blessings of the friends we made along the way. The conference and the learning was just a bonus compared to the relationships and the connections -which is reassurance that there are so many good humans in the world still. The scenery and experiences were divine. The prayer request card from the pew back in the church is a keeper, and it shall be a bookmark that brings smiles every time – – and prayers for all God’s people.
The two of you brilliant, kind ladies in one place is almost too much for me to process! I bet your time together was so special.
Glenda, I love your wise suggestion. You can give master classes on travelling in poetic language. So I am going to do just that:
“Learn their names,
share their travels,
make new friends—”
We didn’t book a lot of must-do tours or sites. I want to walk, talk, stop when and where we want to stop. Thank you!
Thank you for this prompt Leilya. I love the travel/vacation theme and I guess I was anticipating a prompt for souvenirs. This line is me wherever I go now: “pictures I may never print.” Everything is saved in my phone, and that is not always good due to storage capacity. So here is my poem about a priceless souvenir.
Priceless
Usually when I go on a trip I collect a postcard or a keychain.
Something to remind me of a place I may or may not go back to.
The older I get, the more I realize that it’s not about the oversized magnet on the fridge, the keychain that broke apart, or a dusty laminated, overpriced postcard.
What I now cherish are the memories made with family and former strangers.
Long lasting friendships that I pray will remain intact.
Jessica, so much truth! I appreciate the “oversized”, “broke apart”, “dusty” and “overpriced” souvenirs, which are not really the souvenirs. The “priceless” ones are those memories and relationships! Beautiful. So much truth, so well told.
Jessica, I am right with you. It’s the memories we cherish. Love your final lines. Thank you for writing and sharing with us this month!
Jessica,
Im w/ you. I love collecting postcards and photos but abandoned the keychains long ago. I love meeting people and sharing the road w/ them.
Leilya, thank you so much for all the ideas about souvenirs in today’s prompt. Your poem is a beautiful mentor of all types of souvenirs, and I love reading it and thinking about you bringing, carrying, and keeping these special treasures.
Souvenirs of This Trip
The souvenirs I’ll keep–
your bright eyes making
such a strong connection,
your contagious, wide smile,
your deep sighs as you fall asleep,
the soft curls piled on top of your head,
the gentle pats on the back of my arm
while I’m holding you early in the morning,
the raspberries and other tricks
you do with your mouth,
the way your limbs are coordinating
as you master this crawling miracle,
And how memories of your mother return
when I see you in all this wonder.
Oh, Denise, this is so precious! You describe all the wonderful things about your grandson as treasure. This sound like a pure delight:
“the raspberries and other tricks
you do with your mouth”
Then the final lines bring you to your daughter, and it is so relatable. I, too, go back to my daughter’s childhood when her kids are visiting.
Denise,
Love this list of all the wonders you notice about your cute grandson. I’m so happy you shared him w/ Kim, Barb, and me.
Denise, those photos of your little one always bring a smile to my face and put love in my heart. So precious! And you capture this sweetness and grandmotherly joy in these lines. Those last two lines are simply the grand slam feeling of grandparents – – seeing the overlap of past, present, and future on the family tree!
Leilya, I have been enjoying these prompts. Thank you so much. I love your examples.
Masks
A dozen masks on the wall
reminding me of countries
that I visited
eager to see strange lands,
to experience a different way,
to meet the people,
finding them to be open-hearted,
generous
not malicious
as labeled by people with fear.
In Bali, I met a mask maker
in the jungle,
holding carved faces of monkeys and tigers
beautifully painted.
In Mexico I found the sun and moon
made of bright colors and kissing.
In Taiwan a stern lady on the boat
held up a face
and said “Buy!” without smiling.
Some masks are small forms with spikes.
There are angels whistling,
a clown with a big tear on his whitened face
looking over an ogre with big teeth.
Funny cross-eyed faces with tongues protruding
make me laugh as I walk down the hall.
Time is making me forget details
yet, the faces look out
calling back memories
of unique and wonderful people.
Sue,
So fun to hear the history of your masks and how they led you to have authentic, unmasked experiences as you traveled.
My favorite is:
What a unique collection, Susan. I love the mask photo and your poetic descriptions of some of the masks. I especially liked our memory of, “‘Buy!’ without smiling”
Oh I love your poem Sue! “[Masks] finding them to be open-hearted,
generous
not malicious
as labeled by people with fear.” Some people often hide behind masks for fear of being revealed, wanting to be someone or something else, or to feel different. I love how masks show the beauty, scars, pain, or whatever it is we want of our being. The good thing about that is we can take them off and return to ourselves or keep them on and live in the fantasy of our lives. Thank you for sharing.
Sue, thank you for sharing these unique souvenirs. I like a story behind each mask, and I smiled at Taiwan lady. Thank you for the photo and your poem.
Leila—thank you so much for our travel trio!
Souvenir
Lake Erie is strong.
She fights for every inch of land she meets.
Those who love her treat her with caution.
Hers is not a sandy beach, made for towels and umbrellas.
Her beach is filled with treasure.
When you walk away from her shoreline,
you must take some of her with you.
I have never left without a pocket full of smooth, sandy stones,
worn down by Lake Erie’s angry waves.
Some travel south from Canada;
others hail from her fossil-rich bedrock.
If you are lucky, you will snag an “Erie Diamond”–
Sea glass from old bottles polished smooth by the waves.
Banded agate pebbles become worry stones.
Jasper and Puddingstone arrive from the Ice Age,
Fossils, formed millions of years ago,when she was a tropical sea abound.
The best time is after a storm–
treasures from the depths are strewn across the rocky shore.
These stones are not souvenirs.
They are more than that.
They are history.
Gayle Sands
6/22/26
Gayle, what strikes me first in your poem that Lake Erie is a she, and she is strong. Now when I se a sea glass, I will think of “Erie Diamond” and make sure I take it with me. That final line makes me think of any place as the keeper of history. Thank you!
Gayle, What fun to read about time on the shores of the FInger Lakes! My favorite in our poem, today is,
When you walk away from her shoreline,
you must take some of her with you.
I have never left without a pocket full of smooth, sandy stones,
worn down by Lake Erie’s angry waves.
Which can be seen as metaphorical for what we learn as we weather the storms of life!
Thanks for sharing. (You note my poem suggests the lakes, too. I lived in upstate NY, just south of Lake Ontario and when we drove “home” to Michigan, we’d take the northern route around Lake Erie and often stop at the beach for “lunch”.
Gayle, there is SO much to love here. I feel as if I am walking alongside you looking for her souvenirs! This line, “If you are lucky, you will snag an Erie Diamond,” is such a unique and wonderful line clearly powerful and sharing the local lore. Now, I must visit.
Gayle, in your poem, you taught us a lot about Great Lakes history. Loved reading about all the historical treasures you can find on the beaches of Lake Erie.
I love the personification throughout, Gayle, but especially at the beginning: “Lake Erie is strong. / She fights for every inch of land she meets.” And she does have “angry waves,” doesn’t she? lol. (Your ending is great, too! “These stones are not souvenirs. / They are more that that. / They are history.” TRUTH!)
Two years until retirement, God willing,
It’s time to begin downsizing
After thirty-five years of teaching.
Thank you notes, students’ writing,
international coins not for buying.
Boxes of keepsakes forever precious.
The downsizing is both wonderful and painful. Forever precious, indeed…
Cayetana, yes, years of teaching come with so many treasures. I am even afraid to think about it now, but I know that I am also nearing that time. Until then, I am going to keep my treasures. Thank you so much for writing with me all three days. I greatly appreciate your words.
Cayetana, keep writing poems about these “souvenirs”. They’ll help you remember and encourage us to do the same. Thanks for showing “what is important” to hang on to!
I enjoyed the trip down memory lane as I culled through 38 years of stuff. I was surprised at how few souvenirs I kept.
“Boxes of keepsakes forever precious” spark joy.
Cayetana, yes, indeed, a career full of souvenirs! It’s hard to downsize these special treasures. What a great topic for your poem today!
Cayetana, these types of souvenirs I would love to have more of. I have kept the few notes and objects over the years, and although I feel a little salty every year, I know that at least one student’s parent thought of me. “Boxes of keepsakes forever precious.”- My favorite line. Thank you for sharing.
Cayetana, congratulations ahead of time! You are so wise to start preparing and cleaning out the teaching things well ahead. Great planning, wonderful reminder in your poem.
The wide winding road spins back and down,
Around the mountain far outside of town,
A cathedral stands prominent and true,
All here is needed for one to start anew.
Yet here you are not once but twice,
Recalling the pure memory as good a chance as dice,
No matter your forgetful, imaginary mind,
This time you will bring back one of a kind.
A red and gold pendant depicting God’s mother,
One, twice, thrice blessed by an Ethiopian brother,
“By the power of God bless this young man,
to always seek your son the King and the Lamb.”
Thank you, Ben! First of all, I am impressed by the rhyme that is not forced and keeps the poem moving from the very beginning with “down” and “town,” “true” and “anew.” The “red and gold pendant depicting God’s mother” does sound like a precious gift and a blessing from the cathedral.
Ben, wow. I’m fascinated by the pendant, blessed by the Ethiopian brother. What a souvenir. Your poem is a delight to read.
The AI Overview and Google
pull-downs tell me that, although,
we’ve been taking souvenirs from
religious pilgrimages since the
third century, apparently, Horace
Walpole coined the term on
November 23, 1775.
Now, Google also tells me that
November 23, 1775 was also
the date “Bostonians held
a pointedly anti-British Day
of Thanksgiving.”
And that got me thinking,
where, after the meal, do we
put the leftovers? And what,
more importantly, just so
happens to be, according
to Google, “the best
souvenirs to collect?
Fridge Magnets.
Coincidence?
(Or is Big IceBox trying to
monopolize this aspect of
the tourist industry?)
______________________________________________________
Leilya, thank you for this trio of wonderful prompts! I fell into a “where did this term – souvenir – come from” rabbit hole, and when I resurfaced, disheveled, disarrayed, and a bit discombobulated, I had this mess of a(n almost) poem with me, lol.
Fridge Magnets?? Really???🤦🏻♀️🤣
Scott, because of your “rabbits hole,” experience I know that the term “souvenir” was born in 1775. Thank you for the link; I forced myself not to read more than a few minutes. How can I forget Bostonians with their anti-British Thanksgiving? Now you got me thinking about the icebox and its monopolizing nature 🙂 Thank you! I thoroughly enjoyed your poem.
The souvenir of my trip to California
Arrived today special delivery.
It wasn’t the beaded bracelets from
The Wat Thai in Panorama City or
The driftwood we picked up from the beach in Ventura on a cool and foggy June morning.
The FIFA 2026 LA shirts for the boys traveled home with me in my suitcase
as did the stash of oranges from the roadside stand.
I wore the hummingbird earrings I had bought in Pasadena.
After a week to get ready, a week of vacation, and a week of catching up,
Today’s souvenir was the accumulation of expectation, tension, lift offs, landings, car rides, conversations, new horizons, emotions, strange beds, expenses,
Timechange, new foods, disruption, joy, relief, and surprise.
It knocked me horizontal for a bit,
But it was worth it.
There’s a reason vacation comes once a year.
Katrina, I really enjoyed your poem. You list the tangible souvenirs (the beaded bracelets, the driftwood, the FIFA 2026 LA shirts, the oranges), and I was expecting you to get something in the mail, but you reveal the real one, the exhaustion that knocked you down flat. This is so honest and relatable. That ending is perfect.
Katrina, I love the truth of this! (And I love the line, “It knocked me horizontal for a bit.”) You’ve captured and crafted the “we need a vacation after the vacation” feeling so well here!
“the accumulation of expectation, tension, lift offs, landings, car rides, conversations, new horizons, emotions, strange beds, expenses,
Timechange, new foods, disruption, joy, relief, and surprise.”
This was wonderful!! And so very true!
First of all, I hope you enjoyed California. Seems like you had a family to manage as well. I understand “It knocked me horizontal for a bit” as it always takes a few days to recover. I hope the emotions give you a bunch of joyful memories.
Katrina, I love your surprise twist in this magical poem and it makes me want to read poems like this with children leading them on with strong images and letting their minds imagine what it might be. When I got to the end I certainly understood and agree with the release of the tension that comes with so many balls in the air making travel happen. Yes, it is exhausting!
This line resonates with me: “knocked me horizontal for a bit.” Your travels brought grand memories, but the “accumulation of expectation” is exciting! I love it. I want to be like a vacation should be once a month! Thank you for sharing.
Leilya, your poem and prompt are fabulous for this season where traveling is planned or underway. I have never been a big souvenir or picture person, but with camera phones, I have started capturing a few salient moments or images of travel. These, black and white images are what I see every single time I walk through my house! They represent trips I have taken that healed my heart.
Pink sands of Jobson’s Cove,
Gale force winds of the Cliffs of Mohr,
Innumerable Limone di Siracusa,
Drenching and deafening Gullfoss,
Endless switchbacks of Bright Angel Trail,
Beside memories of the Ionian Sea,
Powerful reminders.
I cannot get the image to load so am attaching a link but you really do not need to see it to understand! https://drferreri.blogspot.com/2026/06/june-22-saving-memories.html
Anita, I looked at the photos on the wall in your blog–stunning images. The Gullfoss waterfall owns my heart. I am drawn to rushing waters anywhere anytime (maybe because I am a water sign – Pisces). Thank you for sharing!
Hi Anita,
Love your poem’s sensory images.
Thank you for adding the link too. Photos won’t load if they aren’t jpeg and small file size. Took me a while to figure that out. You can try next time. ☺️
Anita,
i love how you have anchored specific moments/experienced with specific places. Fun to see your photo wall. I also like how your last line reconnects both the writer and the reader to your special moments. Lovely.
Your photos are strong and beautiful. Like my masks on the wall, your photos provide exquisite memories.
Leilya ~ your initial poem and as well as today’s have placed my heart in that beautiful boot-shaped place that I hope to return to someday. Thank you sharing your tender memories and reminding me of my own:
What I’ve Kept
The small vase sits on the ledge, a reminder
of my visit to Italy and a treasured
chalice for tiny things gathered there and here:
painted clay stones, a rose petal, an acorn.
When I am no longer here, no doubt someone
will dump the contents of the vase
and ask the worth
of this tiny trove of inconsequential things.
Who will tell them about my Positano rocks,
the chips of tile washed to shore
by the gentle sea that buoyed me?
Who will remember the unexpected baby roses
left for one whose heart was breaking?
Surely, the boy will have forgotten the afternoon
spent studying the drift of acorns
beneath the massive oak outside his preschool.
Here’s one he said, Let’s keep this one, he said.
What makes this acorn so special?
the grandmother with aging eyes asked.
I picked it! the boy said brightly
and the grandmother’s eyes opened
to the beauty and the wonder of it all.
Gosh, Ann, this is deeply moving. It speaks to the importance of knowing the stories behind all the things we treasure, but more importantly, sharing those stories with those who will be here when we are gone.
Thank you, Ann.
Ann, Oh my goodness, this is a powerful reminder that our stories are the essence of any memory. I have been going through old photographs and have found MANY that are of unknown people, places and things. Amazing tin type photos that could easily be of distant relative from random people driving down the road; yet, I suspect they are they people who left my family with a trail of cancer genes and crooked smiles!
Oh, Ann, your poem is so moving and tender. Love the little boy who picked up an acorn–what can be more beautiful than the child’s pure wonder about anything they find fascinating in this world?
I have the same fears that my “treasures” would seem trash to people who come clean out the house after we are gone. In fact, I have a little “treasure box” (a small gift box) with the most sentimental memory pieces for me, and I bring it for my students to complete a writing exercise. Next time my grandkids come, I will try to remember to take them on a little journey through these things, so they recognize our common keepsakes.
Oh Ann,
Your poem is so tender. Thank you for sharing your treasures and the acknowledgement of our mortality.
Oh,Ann. This touched my soul. I have often thought is what memories will remain from those things I have treasured. Will they be tossed? Will they be kept as remembrance of me and my ancestors?
Souvenirs are not my thing
At least not the kind you buy at the store
Instead I capture the smiles of my loved ones
Skipping through fields of poppies
Standing under a waterfall
Smiling at my jokes
Souvenirs are not my thing
At least not the kind you pick up on a hike
Instead I collect memories of my travels
The heat of the sun beating down on me
The cold of the water rushing over my ankles
The calm of the still air in the morning light
Souvenirs are not my thing
I hold my memories in photos hung on my wall
And travel back to the places I hold so dearly
With stories around the dinner table
Corrina, I love the repetition of the line and sentiment, “Souvenirs are not my thing!” I share your thoughts and wrote something along the same line and yet, to be honest our photos and memories are the souvenirs that really matter and last a long, long time!
Well Corina, despite the fact that you claim Souvenirs are not your thing ~ it feels to me that you bring back with you what’s most important…the cold of the water, the calm of the air and the smiles of loved ones…lovely!
Souvenirs that are the most valuable are the ones that sit on your mind and not on your mantle. Very nice poem
Corrina, the repetition of “Souvenirs are not my thing” is an effective move to juxtapose what you value the most: the smiles of your loved ones, the memories of your travels, the photos on your wall, and stories at the dinner table. These are the best keepers. Thank you for sharing!
A great reminder that memories and experiences are meant to be shared!
I love the imagery here, “The cold of the water rushing over my ankles / the calm of the still air in the morning light” So in addition to the pictures you take, you capture beautiful mental images as well.
Corrina, I love the repetition of form you’ve crafted in your first two stanzas: your “Souvenirs are not my thing” line and then “at least” and then “instead” and then participle phrases in stanza one and article and noun in stanza two. The change in stanza three makes me focus more on it and helps illustrate your final lines: “I hold my memories … [a]nd travel back to the places I hold so dearly / [w]ith stories around the dinner table.” Well done!
I can feel the cool of the stream on my ankles and love the sensory imagery you create in these lines!
Leilya,
Thanks for taking on the prompts! This one is for my dad for yesterday…
FATHER’S DAY
In my growing up,
Father harvested allegory
with a sharp knife
from his Indiana roots,
and he would carry it home in a briefcase,
or pull it off a garage shelf and share it
as a process, unfolded and laid out.
In my growing up,
Father had magic bone spurred knees
that would click a cadence at night,
a precursor to our reluctant sleep
or hallway lights coming on,
before spoken reminders
to two snoring boys.
In my growing up,
Father was an alchemist of hours,
driving off mornings,
returning before dinner,
and in the process his absence
became groceries, Cub Scout uniforms,
dentist visits, and vacations.
In my growing up,
Father carried the weight of time,
moments of import
emotional and imprinting,
shared with me as a little boy
moments of definition
ethical and faith based,
shared with me as a teen
moments of anticipation
purposeful and motivated,
shared with me as a man
moments of our knowing
the weight of time,
shifts from shoulders
father to son.
Beautiful tribute!! Very creative with the weight of time. Nice work
I love how you related time to your father’s presence and absence and the importance of the moments he shared with you over the years. The language of this poem is powerful.
Rex, so many lines are stunning, expertly crafted in “harvested allegory” and “magic bone spurred knees.” I mean these are some incredible phrases.
Rex, this is a wonderful tribute to your dad. Your choice of powerful words that make the stop and think about him and his quiet strength to persevere are clear. He “carried the weight of time and was an alchemist of hours! Amazing word choice. He sounds pretty amazing.
Rex, I got goosebumps when I read this…you’ve painted a detailed portrait of your father — and in doing so his son. Knowing the weight of time is a phrase I will remember!
Rex, I briefly responded to your poem on yesterday’s page. As I reread it again, I want to praise you for so many beautiful lines and images–this is a masterfully-crafted tribute to your father. “I love the “harvested allegory / with a sharp knife / from his Indiana roots,” which grounds the image of your father in his heritage. Each “In my growing up” stanza shows roles and responsibilities your father was carrying. You arrive to knowing “the weight of time, / shifts from shoulders / father to son” in the final lines, which to me signifies one of the major universal lessons–children have to take onto responsibilities of parents at some point. Thank you!
Wow. I felt this one. What a tribute! He harvested allegory… Wow.
Leilya, I love that your souvenirs include “the sound of your laughter” and “a stranger’s smile.” When our two sons (now 25 and 27) were little boys, they loved to shop for souvenirs. However, they always struggled to choose just one. My husband came up with the idea of the Vacation Fairy which required us to watch closely as the boys surveyed all the gift shop goodies. Then my husband would sneak back and purchase a souvenir for each child and have the items in their respective spots on the backseat on the morning we left for home. I look forward to sharing that tradition with our granddaughter on our upcoming trip this September.
Vacation Fairy
two little boys
one little budget
many souvenir shops
too many knick-knacks, t-shirts, figurines,
seashells with googly eyes, plushies,
hacky saks, travel games,
hermit crabs in painted shells,
bobble heads
to choose just one
we paid close attention
as their little hands
picked merchandise up
put it back down
and then
on the night before we traveled home
my husband
snuck back to the gift shop
and purchased one
coveted souvenir
for each son
next morning
when we woke bright and early
to load the car
for the long ride home
sad that vacation
had come to an end
there
in their booster seats
a gift
to help them
remember
all the fun we had
Lori,
Thanks for the great idea, and taking me along to see how it played out in the process. I feel like they were so well behaved and adorable, looking at things and then putting them back. My kids would be asking, perhaps over and over…
Yes, isn’t that what it is all about, the memory, the remembering long after and also something tangible to hold onto and carry forward. I love this scene in the booster seats so much.
Lori, this is a wonderful tradition that takes some of the pressure off the children and also supports sometimes better choices that are a wonderful surprise waiting in their “booster seats.” I think I can see them smiling as well as those grands will smile on your upcoming trip!
Oh, Lori, your husband is a treasure to keep, what a loving, thoughtful dad. I love the vacation fairy idea. I think this would be a great tradition for my family too. I might steal it. Thank you for sharing–it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside!
This is so tender and beautiful ~ and the gifts, the one two little boys might not yet recognize, are the attentive parents who placed these souvenirs in their little hands.
What a wonderful memory. And I can imagine that this will be the memory that stays with your boys forever.
This is so sweet! Such a nice gesture by your husband. Them memory of that act is a souvenir in itself.
Lori, I love the tradition, but also the lessons of knowing we can’t have everything we want and choosing is important. You set a tradition AND taught lessons of choice too. I also think that staying present in the moments of the trip and togetherness takes a high priority too in your tradition. That is so smart! I just love it. Thank you for sharing of your travels in this poem.
Leilya,
Your June prompts have been perfect! I loved the travel theme. These lines are beautiful and I know you’ll have a spectacular time in Italy! Thank you for hosting us and taking care of us for 3 days.
I chose a tricube today. I am still floating in these new feelings of being retired. I know it won’t hit me until the end of summer, so until then, I’m just enjoying the feeling of a free summer!
Souvenirs from Teaching
What I have
To behold
Forever
Doesn’t fit
In my hands
Or a box
It is joy
Abundant
And profound
©Stacey L. Joy, 6/22/26
Stacey,
You have me jealous with the abundant and profound. Congratulations on the retirement. I think the end game of teaching is to have that feeling, of joy and abundance. My heart is happy for you, and I also think the tricube worked well for capturing the legacy.
Stacey, congratulations again on your retirement! I just celebrated my one year retirement anniversary; and I still can’t believe it. I love the title “Souvenirs from Teaching,” and I definitely can relate to your poem.
Yes, the tricube is a perfect form to hold and carry what resists here, what doesn’t fit any other way but to be profound in the final word of the trio.
Stacey, your poem is powerful and I totally share your sentiment. I left the best teacher mugs in the Teacher Room and saved the notes and profound memories of children who left their mark on me!
Oh, Stacey, you’ve captured your treasured souvenir perfectly in this tricube. I wish every teacher could leave the profession gracefully with abundance of deep joy like you. Enjoy the first retirement summer 🙂
Each Sunday before the service, our pastor invites us to “Breathe in and breathe out.” It has taken on a religious meaning to me now. Your poem was an inhalation and an exhalation. Thank you!
Stacey, my friend, all my congratulations to you and thank you for all your years of service in education! You are one of a kind – – not many teachers teach as long as you have done, and what an absolute gift of your time, your self, and your blessings to have taught so many children over these years. I am loving the tricube. It’s a minimal form, and I love the forms that pack such power into so few lines…..that last stanza says everything so perfectly about joy, how it knows no bounds. I like how you use your name as a conceptual noun and that it can be a proper noun too. I will join you in retirement on August 1. I’m having a summer followed by 8 days of a new contract and then I, too, will be swimming in all the new possibilities. High five!
Hagan’s Hideout
The scars I left,
on the tree,
reminded me of,
our mortality.
Trunk of thirty rings,
where thirty songbirds sing,
there I stood between,
my ego and a king.
Scandrels will know I exist,
from the blade,
twisting in my fist.
Will either of us be missed,
When we ash to mist?
When the king falls,
from unwanted winds,
and I succumb to,
Carvings within,
Who will know where,
I have been,
Marking my journey’s end?
souvernirs of my soul,
lashed in barks of old,
never to be read,
never to be told,
Deep in the swamps,
Hiding
Hagan’s gold.
a secret kept,
on bark and in me,
a treasure,
rest poetically,
in the carvings,
of a thirty ringed tree.
Oh, yes. Souvenir of my soul. Perfect. That is a clever and apt line here to carry the lashed in bark of old and the deep in the swamps and Hagan’s gold. It is within the speaker for sure and also the tree. A pair carved.
Clayton, I read your poem five times, smiling each time and yet filled with questions as I wondered about the marks you (and I) will leave behind as we “succumb” and all that is left if the “scars on the tree”. I guess it is just a “treasure, rest poetically in carvings.” I have saved your poem.
Clayton, This is a beautiful poem! I love how you turn a single carved tree into a whole mythology of ego, mortality, and hidden treasure. I also like how you establish a timeline with 30 rings (30 years) and then turn swamp into a secret keeper. Your poem reminds me that the land keeps the stories long after the people are gone with these lines:
“a treasure,
rest poetically,
in the carvings,
of a thirty ringed tree.”
Ten thousand pictures
Travel is for making memories, they say,
I am learning how to make them stay palpable,
I look at the world around through the phone screen.
My travel buddy only uses his eyes, his phone is safe in his pocket,
He relies on me catching the beauty of the rock formation,
The huge gator crossing the road,
The funny name on the menu.
The best of the memories though
Slip between the snapshots,
The emotional palette of them lost on the outsiders,
They only see pretty pictures.
The best of the memories are the songs of my heart,
They are about driving along a street a foot wider than the car (no pictures of that, only the terror of getting stuck),
They are about a local on horseback pointing to a quiet cemetery (the thrill of a sudden detour!),
They are about the flutter of the soul when you see a textbook story arise in front of you (I have been reading about you all my life, Big Ben!).
So my slideshow is always show and tell, not a photo dump.
I will still take ten thousand vibrant, saturated pictures. They are saturated with my memories
Yulia, the songs of my heart is such a lovely line. I also adore your closing line. I like how you can differentiate between you and your travel partner by phone usage. It’s a very real way to see different ways of traveling. Nicely done.
Yulia, my gracious! There are so many lines to love in your poem…..this shift here,
The best of the memories though
Slip between the snapshots,
slipping to the relationship that far exceeds the confines of the frame – – and the fluttering of soul in story rising from page to actual beholdingness of the actual moment of seeing a thing.
And that last line….the memory makers. Photos, which shall show memory the way back.
Yulia, your travel companion is fortunate to have you along to capture these awe-inspiring moments in photographs; and I’m sure those photos are amazing because you obviously see with a poet’s eye and heart. I love this line: “The best of my the memories are the songs of my heart.”
Yulia,
I love that you’re honoring your way of capturing memories as well as your travel buddy’s way. I am guilty of taking too many photos and not stopping to appreciate with my naked eye. I love these lines, and I felt the terror of that narrow road:
Yulia,
I like the mentioning of how the best of the memories slip between the snapshots…I appreciate the flutter of the soul as well. I feel that when visiting places of history…where you can’t capture the weight of what happened in that moment of a camera’s frame…Show and tell is a good descriptor, as it reflects the little kid enthusiasm of our trips in our recounting.
Oh, “the emotional palette of them losts on the outsider” – wow,that is a beautiful line among so man others.
Yulia, “The best memories are “songs of my heart” is a powerful line that speaks to the way so many of us spend our most special moments watching through the screen! I watch so many at music performances and graduations taking so many videos. I wonder if they every watch them?
Welcome, Yulechka! Привет, Юлечка 🙂 I am so glad to see you here, my friend! Please, keep coming back every month. We write here regularly and the teacher poets are so supportive and caring as you can see from the comments.
I like the parentheticals with additional clarifications; they always add more to get to know the speaker/you.
My favorite lines are these:
“The best of the memories though
Slip between the snapshots,
The emotional palette of them lost on the outsiders.”
Thank you for writing and sharing with us today! Спасибo! You are welcome to respond to some poems you read.
Yulia, the message that keeps coming through loud and clear from you wonderful poem is “The best of the memories though Slip between the snapshots.” Without the stories, there are just vague memories.
Thank you, Leilya, for hosting today’s perfectly timed topic of souvenirs. There is so much wisdom, kindness, gratitude and awe that I hope to carry home with me from our trip to Peru as we head back home tonight. I hope to continue writing about these small moments of joy and discovery.
Thank you for bringing us to Italy in your poem.
Love the sense of being refreshed and refocused in your last stanza, and perhaps also realistic about the fleeting nature of the vacation mindset. I hope you can keep your focus on la doce vita for a good long while.
—————————————————-
Souvenir
the crackle of crunching open
with my knuckle
the equator of a stemmed orange passionfruit
the slurp
the crunch of black seeds
——————————————-
Poem and photo on my blog, Pedaling Poet,
https://pedalingpoet.wordpress.com/2026/06/22/souvenir/
Sharon, I taste the sweetness of the juice and feel it trickle, like what travel does.
Sharon, how beautiful! The way you shared so much in only 5 lines is incredible. Thank you for the link to your blog because the photo made my mouth water!
Enjoy and safe travels home.🥰
This description captures so much tropical joy and summer delight. I love the sensory details.
Sharon, you have shared so much about what you value in just 5 lines! Love this
Oh, Sharon, I am craving this juicy passionfruit now. I can almost taste it reading your word–delicious poem! Love “the equator of a stemmed orange passionfruit / the slurp.” I checked out the photo on your blog–even more enticing. Thank you!
Leilya, your prompts are simply amazing this month, and I treasure your kind feedback all week! I recently read a book by Rolf Potts, a favorite travel writer of mine, entitled Souvenirs. This brought the book to mind. Thank you for these delightful prompts! I chose Ada Limon as a model from Instructions on Not Giving Up.
Souvenirs
more than the t-shirts and canvas bags
more than the keychains and shot glasses
more than that obnoxious prayer request card
cussing to God about the souls
of His other children
in the pew back compartment
someone intentionally forgot
to put in the plate
that I claimed as a bookmark
so I can pray the same sort
of prayer for Sam, Gavin, Kellen and all of us sinful humans
(yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es)
more than the signed books of other writers
more than the leather shopping treasures,
it’s the photographs that really get to me
that keep the memories alive
stances of trees, slants of slate rooftops,
smiles of strangers and those we love
(yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es)
standing beneath waterfalls
in the bend of the rainbow
God’s promise of hope for all his children
cloaked in the prayer shawl of His grace and mercy
(yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es)
yes, I’ll take them. I’ll take them all.
Oh, Kim, I always love when the day begins with Ada Limon. I have recently brought two of her poetry collections to my Summer institute, and everyone loved the poems. Include me into the prayers, please, among “all of us sinful humans / (yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es).” And I, too, welcome “stances of trees, slants of slate rooftops, / smiles of strangers and those we love.” Thank you for writing with me this month! Safe travels home.
Ha!!! I love this so much! I needed this today. I think I will add Ada Limon to my summer reading. I know I’ve been missing out on so much and look forward to being inspired.
You are a source of inspiration, joy and hope, Kim. 🩷
Kim, thank you for sharing this today, for your awareness of and love for all humankind. It’s steeped into your poetry like a warm, soothing tea.
Kim, I have already marked Souvenirs as a TBR, thank you. You said this perfectly, “more than the signed books of other writers, more than the leather shopping treasures,
it’s the photographs that really get to me.” Clearly, I am on the same wavelength!
Leilya, your prompts this month invited fond memories for me. Since I’d written about my husband on day one and my daughter on day two, I decided I’d better be fair and write about her brothers today. It wasn’t tough with your prompt, so with two sons, I wrote two acrostic stanzas with your key term in the singular.
Non-Synching Sons Still Satisfy
Sons and the memories they evoke and make
Our travels together from state to state
Up through Canada, over the Finger Lakes
Very often annoying their sister no end!
Even began to finagle and fuss
Nevertheless they fund fond memories
Interesting times at the roadside parks
Running and resting, recuperating for the next lap of the trip.
Sonny, we called our oldest son
Our athletic musician and scholar
Up in the top bunk slept his younger brother
Vivacious and victory-winning cheerleader
Even though they were so very different, they scored
Nice memories nurture us all
Invariably they’d come in together when they heard mommy call.
Recalling those times together makes joyful tears fall.
Anna, this puts a smile on my face and a tear on my cheek for the bittersweet pain of loss and the continued joy of life. We are blessed even in the shadows as we all make our way to the great banquet table. I like how you used an acrostic for this and made a Canva. Big hugs, Anna!
Thanks, Kim. But, just for clarification, this graphic was generated with ChatGPT. I haven’t started with Canva, yet. 🙂
Anna, I love how your family is always at the forefront. You brought up the walks with your husband, trips with your daughter, and now travels with your sons–a rich and beautiful family circle. I love the image; your sons are handsome and full of life in the picture you attached. I understand when you say: “Even though they were so very different, they scored / Nice memories nurture us all.” I have two daughters, who are so different, but both make “joyful tears fall.’ Thank you for sharing! Hope you had a delightful birthday celebrations with your loved ones.
What a beautiful homage to your sons presented in a creative way. Excellent to read about them this way. Well done!
Souvenirs
Book!
If I can find
stories, specific to a place,
those become additions to my memories.
Mysterious Disappearances in the Smoky Mountains;
Hawai’i Island Legends;
Living Stories of the Cherokee;
Blinky Bill; Snugglepot and Cuddle Pie;
These are just a few
of the tales
that take me back
to adventures
most exciting.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek June 2026
Thank you, again, Leilya for a great summer prompt. I can’t help but look forward to a book on every vacation. The titles listed here take me back to the Smoky Mountains with my now husband; Oahu with my family and new friends; Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse monument; and the outback of Australia with 30 high school students.
100% agree, Jennifer! I also like to try to read books, both fiction and nonfiction, about the places I travel to. Right now I’m on an Australia kick, and I’m loving it. I also love how your poem reminds me to shop local when I travel.
Jennifer, have SO much fun on this trip! Oh my, what an adventure you are having. I, too, love the travel section and the regional books that take me places so I can experience the details. Almost as good as being there – – and if poetry, sometimes even better. Wow!!!
Jennifer, yes to the books, the greatest of souvenirs. I can imagine reading something and recognizing settings, descriptions of places, people, and local colors. Thank you for the suggestions too.
Now that’s a souvenir I could treasure – a book! I love how your book list is a remembrance in itself of many of the places you’ve visited.
I love collecting local story books from areas I visit. It allows to re-engage with the people and culture even when I am gone! Well done!
The Long and Short of It
By Mo Daley 6-22-26
The gift of gab is a trope,
but it works for me.
My big mouth opens
conversational doors.
Perhaps I wouldn’t have spoken
to the elderly man at the party,
but when he mentions Peru,
my ears perk up and I tell him
about my brother being trotted around
the Incan Trail falsely touted
as Hiram Bigham’s grandson.
And the woman who can’t stop talking?
She’ll listen to my story
about the Ghanaian drummer
who inserted himself into our trip.
My family adores the tale
of the evening my brother
tried multiple times to order
trois vin chaud and the server
begged him to order in English
so as not to slaughter
the French language anymore.
These silver-tongued souvenirs
are mine to keep and to share.
Mo, you are a wise hoot! I love your take on souvenirs here. The stories you bring from each trip are certainly the “silver-tongued souvenirs / are [yours] to keep and to share.” Next time we meet, tell me about your brother trying to order “trois vin chaud and the server / begged him to order in English.” 🙂
Mo, I’d like to be a bird following you on your travels, just watching and listening – – all the funny things! Your story of your brother reminds me of the time my dad went on a cruise and all the people mistook him for the Pope, and one lady yelled, “The Pope is on the ship!” He was Baptist. Funny times indeed, and I feel that drummer. I’d insert myself, too, just to hear the stories.
Mo, this makes me want to sit and talk (especially about that Hiram Bigham tale)! And now I’m missing spending these few days with you even more. Love your spin on souvenirs as conversations and the stories connected to travels.
I was literally just thinking about you and wishing you were here!
Your memory souvenirs are the best! I love the detailed glimpses you create, allowing your reader to see the memory unfold.
Mo, I love that your souvenirs are memories and conversation. I would love to listen to all of your stories about your travels
These three days have worked well to get me writing about our amazing vacation to the Pacific Northwest. I love how your poem, Leilya, recognizes that it’s not the physical but also “saying yes” that brings such a sense of joy on vacation. I made a list that may somehow form itself into a poem.
Souvenirs
A wishing stone from the Elwha River
Pressed wildflowers: blue forget-me-not,
red rock rose, oxeye daisy…
Photos uploaded for a memory book
a new perfume
watercolor painting book shared with Stella (my 5 year old artist)
stickers from the whale museum and Granny’s cafe
maps, postcards, brochures
poems from a “Poetry Walk”
galvanized metal bucket Maggie “had to have” from the antique store
old comic books for the boys
and a deep desire to do it all again next year.
Margaret, your list is like a scrapbook or camera reel, of sorts. We’re flipping each line as we look through your souvenirs. An interesting way to collect memories!
Margaret, I love each one of your souvenirs, especially watercolor painting book you shared with Stella. and I, like you have “a deep desire to do it all again next year.”
Margaret, I hope you paint the pressed flowers. Oh, the joy! I saw the photo of Stella painting in her book in the airport and it melts my heart…..I love your memories, and I can see the souvenirs vividly.
This poetic list of souvenirs is delightful! I love how you included not only your own souvenirs, but those of family members as well.
Leilya, thank you for hosting this month and pulling this theme together that was perfectly timed. I feel your love for espresso and Italy:)
is it cliché to say memories are my favorite souvenirs
the feelings of joy and novelty perfunctory on
any adventure just as trite as asking…how are you
when we wander–both business and pleasure–is our
identity repacked in a way that didn’t fit the same as
it did on the trip in…a fresh lust, a trendy word, a new smell
a breathing retrospection that will travel with us through life
The just right kind of cliche “that will travel with us through life”, the best kind of memories.
Stefani, the idea of our identity repacked in a way that didn’t fit the same as on the trip in is an intriguing concept in relation to souvenirs and how travel affects us. We gather the memories, which affect who we are, and constantly pack and repack our lives in an ever-shifting space. Hmmm… I’m glad you have me pondering this!
You captured what I was trying to convey…that no souvenir justly gets the gist of the memories.
Stefani, those are the most valuable ones “a fresh lust, a trendy word, a new smell
a breathing retrospection that will travel with us through life,” as much as they sound cliché. Thank you for writing this month, and I hope to see you in July in NOLA.
Good point on how travelling for business or pleasure can both be transformative
those last three lines are just the lines I need to print and leave in my suitcase. I want a suitcase bumper sticker with this whole poem on it. I adore this frame of mind about travel. A snippet of self to carry on the journey.
Stefani, no souvenir seems to capture what my memories are from a trip either. I’ve resorted to taking home the ‘souvenir’ of telling stories instead and photos from my film camera.
Stef,
I want to hold this forever:
Memories are treasures and your poem delivers just that!!
What a perfect trio of related prompts you provided us with, Leilya!
Keepsakes
I’m a keepsake girl.
And, I always, always
but a t-shirt.
We scoured shops
in each town
(they’re ubiquitous.…
they are proud of green
and shamrocks and pots of gold
and leprechauns
though they don’t want
to be reduced to a stereotype)
for magnets
and stickers for our garage fridge,
a scrapbook of sorts of our travels.
We got the girls trucker hats
and tea towels,
the boys golf shirts
from Adare Mano
and decks of playing cards.
Jason got a t-shirt
from Tatler Jack’s pub.
Grant has wanted a cable-knit sweater,
so we invested in one from Aran Sweater Market.
I buy a book everywhere we go
(I prefer hardcover; trade paperbacks
were everywhere)
so I grabbed Secrets Between Friends
by Sheila O’Flanagan (can’t get much
more Irish than that)
at an Eason’s in Ennis.
I thought I wanted a piece of jewelry
(odd for me …I wear the same necklace, earrings and
two rings every day)
to mark this epic trip.
A Claddagh ring,
A Connemara marble necklace,
A Celtic cross.
Meaningful,
small enough to fit
in my overstuffed carry-on.
We went into many shops.
The keepsake girl came
home virtually empty-handed.
Nothing grabbed my eye.
Nothing seemed worthy
to preserve the
memories that live
in my heart.
~Susan Ahlbrand
22 June 2026
Susan, I love your Celtic themes here–I have a deep love for the Connemara region and know what you refer to. Your last stanza is spot on for so many adventures. Thank you for sharing.
I forgot to put a t-shirt in my list, but I always get one. I love the specific details that are so universal in your poem. I am with you on the thought that “nothing seemed worthy”. All the things do not truly capture the feeling of a memorable trip.
Susan, your last words emphasize the importance of the relationship we have with our travels. This reminds me that souvenirs are a bit like the photos or videos we take of important moments, where we miss the real live event because we’re watching it through the lens. Both are wanted (and needed, in ways). They offer us details that might otherwise fade.
Susan, how I recognize myself in your poem and the final lines: everyone got something, and you didn’t get anything for yourself, except of “memories that live in [your] heart.” My husband loves t-shirts from different places, and I don’t want them–I will not wear the New York, or Paris, or Barcelona shirt in Louisiana, so what’s the point? I do love taking pictures though and then get lost in them one of the days/evenings. Thank you!
Susan, those same two rings every day link us as common jewelry wearers. I could fit my standard pieces in a small pouch, never needing a box. I chuckle because you know how you buy too many books on a trip and wonder, in the absence of all possibility you previously had of shipping them home, how you’re gonna get back? That’s me this morning in Portland at the airport……so I need to take your tradition of a book. A book. As in one (a) singular book. That would have helped……I love your poem for all these great tips and the choice to remain empty-handed when nothing would do the memory justice other than the memory itself. Bravo!
Souvenir
I bought two Hanes cotton slips with shelf bras last
June: one beige, one black. After our first stop,
when we worried our bags’d be too heavy, I
purged items. Left the beige. Kept the black,
which I have now worn 325 consecutive
nights. Sometimes under a parka when we
didn’t have heat. Sometimes as a shirt when
tees were still damp on the drying line. Last
week, I cut the stretched straps to tie the shelf
a bit higher. The cotton blend is basically see-
through now, but that $12 nightgown from Wal-
mart really carried my dreams through squeaky
mattressed slumber and middle-of-the-night writing
sessions on borrowed sofas and cool, tiled floors.
I slept supported on four continents, wrote dozens
of pages draped in threadbare cotton. PJs.Yes,
I will carry home my Hanes souvenir: travel token
of affection, memory-marker of living dreams.
Ha, Sarah, I love this–the souvenir as something you took that built memories. You had me chuckling a few times and I love the lines: carried my dreams through…
I hope it makes it through your last month. Maybe you can sew it into a headband or something wearable upon your return:)
My mother-in-law traveled a lot and left her underwear behind. That always boggled my mind because it is literally the smallest thing in your bag. I love how this piece has taken on such meaning through all of your amazing adventures. You will feel the experience again each time you wear it.
Sarah, this bolsters the fact that we can live with so little. The tangibility in your details shares the reality of your travels, bringing life to the souvenir and reminding us of what lies under the memories (the sou part).
This is so great! What we wear through a trip becomes a keepsake!
Sarah, what a story. I think you may think to write your sabbatical memoir as a handbook on travel, restorations, and work. I’d buy it! I love this story and turning Hanes cotton slip into a souvenir, as you beautifully put it: “travel token / of affection, memory-marker of living dreams.”
Sarah, it’s always the basics and essentials that get us through, isn’t it? And they come from the most unlikely places as the favorite souvenirs. I have a new bookmark I found in the back of a church pew with some language on it. And I laughed because when Briar found out I was going to Powell’s City of Books with only a carry-on and a personal bag, he nodded and assured me, “You’re coming home without clothes.” I think he would have been right – – if I hadn’t bought an extra bag just a smidge bigger than my current personal bag. An essential canvas bag…..a souvenir as needed as a Hanes cotton blend slip with a shelf bra to hold the girls up. Yes! The best souvenirs are the ones we wear thin.
Sarah, I have a t-shirt I slept in so many nights that’s it’s impossible to wear now. It’s threadbare and full of holes. Your poem brought back the memories of that t-shirt and the countless nights sleeping in it.
A collection of sea glass –
blue, pink, green –
smoothed out and clouded
by time and constant motion;
the Atlantic Ocean,
as relentless artist
— Kevin
Yes, something natural and stolen/borrowed from earth. Naming the Atlantic as a relentless artist is perfect! Thank you for sharing.
“Relentless artist” is a perfect way to describe how the ocean creates sea glass.
Sea glass is one of my favorite finds! Relentless artist (perfect description) reminds me of the continual process that is art with all its tinkering, rewriting, drafting…
Yes, sea glass made by “relentless artist” is a treasure to keep. Thank you for this beauty!
I love your personification of the Atlantic Ocean as an artist using time and motion to create art…isn’t that what all artists do? Use the tools they have at hand to give something beautiful the world. Lovely!
Leilya, thank you for prompting us to travel through one another. Your poem captures the smallest of details meant to tug at the senses. It places us there alongside you in the most savory of ways. La dolce vida, indeed!
Souvenir
The house is filled
with bits
and pieces,
time-gathered.
Memories sit upon wooden trays
and within pottered cups,
spill from frames
like artwork
collected from the sea.
A whiff of salty air,
a hint of rain lingers
at the edges of past
and present,
Time intermingles
and all is held
as footsteps
for traveling
tomorrows.
Jennifer, I like your mix of tangible and intangible keepsakes that fill your house and your story. I still have a few sample sprays from the Burren perfumery that sometimes remind me of you! Enjoy your week and any summer travels.
Jennifer, as I read your poem, I glanced around my room, and immediately found souvenirs you mention as visible and memories attached to them. Love the intangible beauty of your verse:
A whiff of salty air,
a hint of rain lingers
at the edges of past
and present,
So beautiful with a hint of nostalgia, at least for me. Thank you!
Jennifer, I can picture your souvenirs so easily on that wooden tray, but I just love your intangible souvenirs, too. I especially like that you haven’t named a specific place, which allows us to insert ourselves right into the poem as we share the souvenirs.