A Reminder

So today I will write this down so I will remember it. Maybe. Hopefully.

Laura Lee,

When you have an important thought, write it down before you forget it.
It is a gift to you. A gift that will not get old, go out of style, or loose relevance.

Love,

Attention to Distraction

Sitting at the table 

I felt my socks inch their way down 

again

exposing naked skin

itching at my wardrobe malfunction 

bad choices collected 

during the morning rush.

I could not focus

Skin begging

my fingers to hide it...

and I remembered 

4th grade and 2nd grade 

in trouble because 

I couldn't keep still

something else always 

luring my attention

I still think about the way I felt

under the microscope

trapped by the rules 

and it reminds me of my waning attention

and desire to drift...

Reading “That Reminds Me” by Will Mowery in Poetry Mentor Texts inspired me to write this snippet. Borrowing Mowery's structure, I used some of the words and phrases to draft. 

Dorfman, Lynne; Cappelli, Rose (2012-11-09). Poetry Mentor Texts (Kindle Location 827). Stenhouse Publishers. Kindle Edition. 

#dearme

As my screensaver floated across the screen, it caught my son's attention. A picture of both himself and his sister two years ago. Although not much time has passed, the difference is huge. He is much taller and as a teenaged boy views himself through a different lens than his adolescent counterpart. "Mom, if you could talk to your younger self, would you? Do you think the younger self would want to impress the older self or would it be the other way around?" Silence. I honestly don't know what I'd say or the answer to his questions... But I know for sure I'd be kinder to my younger self and give her lots more love. 

Yet, I do not

I am inspired by writers everyday in some of the most important areas of my life:

Song writers

Book writers

Poetry writers

I believe the very act of writing, expression if you will, is essential. Yet, I do not write. There aren’t many things that make me as happy a walk in the woods, the smell of the trees, crunch of earth beneath my feet. Yet, I do not walk. Why am I denying the very things that contribute to my happiness?

The Eyebrows

It is amazing the images, smells and ideas that float across our consciousness and sometimes catch our attention. Even though this particular memory spans decades, I remember pieces of preschool like yesterday. Reciting rhymes-- Jack be nimble, Jack be quick... hanging upside down from monkey bars; strawberry bloomers on display for all to see. I remember her eyebrows. It must have been '73 or '74. My teacher drew perfect eyebrows to frame big almond eyes blinking behind mile long eyelashes. The big round balls at the beginning of her brows signaled the beginning of painted perfection atop her smooth chocolaty complexion. Without a flyaway hair in sight, everyday her eyebrows flawless. No one I knew had eyebrows like that.

Squeaky

This chair is squeaky, and every time I move I am reminded of the fact that I cannot seem to keep still. I never could. In circle, I would braid the little girls hair in front of me, which irritated Ms. Space. A moving rule breaker sharpening my pencil to a perfect point, twisting in my wooden seat desk. Folding my legs, feet on chair, hiding from penmanship worksheets. The way to school paved by stomach flutters, fears, frights. I knew my teachers didn’t like me because they told me so… “you will be pregnant and barefoot by the age of 16” Sister Sheila predicted. And I was.

I wish I could carry you

but I can't

there is no access 

     down 

       these 

         stairs

and

you are too heavy.

I wish I could 

lift you 

place you

tote you

on my hip

lift you 

rest you

on these shoulders

for a better view of this world...

I wish 

I could 

carry you