A girl is curled into her mother.
The sun has long since gone down.
The night is warm and the room
is lit by a single orange globe
hung above the easy chair.
The girl could not be any closer—
even her ears are curled in
to the voice of her mother.
And if there is a world beyond
the chair in which they sit
and the book they read,
they are not aware of it.
Their imaginations are swirled
together into a world of talking
badgers and valiant mice and
betrayal and war and love.
Fifty years later, that girl
sometimes catches herself staring
in a mirror, stunned by a gratefulness
so deep for her own almost magical story,
a story in which for years she could sit
on her mother’s lap, rapt in a book,
both of them agreeing, just one more page,
and then, just one more.
Posts Tagged ‘books’
Not The End
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, daughter, mother's day, reading on May 11, 2025| Leave a Comment »
Looking at the Books Behind Jack and James
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, connection, influences, Jack Ridl, james crews, zoom on October 2, 2024| 15 Comments »
for Jack Ridl and James Crews
In the zoom room with Jack and James,
I stare at the books behind them—
books stacked, books shelved,
books slender and thick,
and I think of how we’re all shaped
by words we’ve read. For me,
the wooden love sonnets of Neruda.
The wanderings of Ammons. The wounds
of Olds. The wonder of Oliver.
The playfulness of cummings.
The ravages of Amichai and Darwish.
And oh, how I’ve been touched
by these two men—
their mornings with coffee and tea.
Jack’s dog. James’s flowers.
The ways they fill their hours
with kindness. With silence.
With peeling back the layers
of family and home and self.
If there were shelves inside me,
you probably wouldn’t find
their books there—more likely
strewn about on the heart’s couch,
the mind’s floor. I carry them
with me into each inner room,
Jack’s walks, James’s bees,
and daily, they become me.
And all those books on their shelves
that have formed these men
into the humans they are,
I thank all of those poets, too.
How deeply entwined we all are.
How many lives and poems we bring with us
each time we enter a room.
Thank You, Gary Paulsen
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, daughter, forest, Gary Paulsen, loss, reading on October 14, 2021| 12 Comments »
You are your most valuable asset. Don’t forget that. You are the best thing you have.
—from Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen, (May 17, 1939-October 14, 2021)
How many children went down in that plane, Gary?
How many children fell out of the sky alone
and learned they could live
for months in the woods
with only a hatchet for help?
How many kids learned
that tough conditions were a bidding
to bring their best self?
My daughter was nine or ten
when she first drew your book from the shelf
and found herself stranded in the northern woods.
Then she went there on purpose again and again.
Now, three years later, she wanders a forest of loss,
and in so many ways she’s alone.
Gary, you gave her a story to believe in
in which young people survive, find their way home.
Your story’s a sharp tool my daughter can wield
to make sparks in these darkened days.
I thank you for teaching her
how she might rise from a crash,
how in these woods of sorrow,
though I would build her a fire if I could,
she is the best thing she has.
*In case you are unfamiliar with Gary Paulsen, you can read more here. As he says, “Name the book that made the biggest impression on you. I bet you read it before you hit puberty.”
Cardiac Library
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, heart, library on August 1, 2020| 1 Comment »
In the library of my heart
are thousands of slim volumes.
There are no rules
against dog earring pages.
Writing in margins
is encouraged.
There are many comfy chairs,
sage and amethyst rugs,
and surprisingly tall ceilings
with ladders for reaching
the highest shelves.
Dust never collects here,
the cream candles never burn out,
though sometimes
a chapter or two is lost
and no one notices.
It smells of vanilla
and lavender and old paper.
It smells of autumns
and moonlight and loss.
Is it any wonder
I sometimes go days
without leaving here?
But sometimes,
though I have in my hand
the key to get in,
I just can’t find the door.
Every Time
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, connection, poem, poetry, reading on February 3, 2019| 5 Comments »
and after the lights were out
and after my mother had kissed me goodnight
I would pull from under my pillow
the book, the flashlight, and for hours
in the quiet house, no matter how difficult
the day had been, no matter how low I felt,
for those hours I was so glad to be alive
in someone else’s story, and every time,
when I when I tugged long enough on its lines,
I could not help but notice
how each story was my story, too.
In Praise of the Books that Change Us
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, poem, poetry, transformation, words on August 14, 2018| Leave a Comment »
The words that will change us
remember, perhaps,
when they were first found
by the person willing
to serve them—
they carry in their serifs
a willingness to wait,
late nights of wrestling silence,
the wing of receiving, the joy
in sharing the gift.
When we read them, they enter us
like tiny notes in a score we never knew
we were part of until one day
there is music everywhere
and we are the ones being sung.
One in the Eye of the Beholder
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, books, poem, poetry, reading, story on January 25, 2018| 8 Comments »
reading the book again—
the dogeared pages the same,
the story in them, wholly changed
One Revelation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged after life, books, poem, poetry on December 11, 2017| Leave a Comment »
turning the last page
of our lives, perhaps then
we finally get to read
the glossary to see
what all those symbols meant
Next Chapter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Art, books, parenting, poem, poetry, understanding on February 21, 2017| 4 Comments »
Mom, she says, Stop crying.
She’s embarrassed for me.
I can’t stop. After three hours
of snuggling on the green couch,
we are nearing the end of our book,
where the silverback gorilla
and the baby elephant say goodbye
to the girl who has helped them
leave their cages. It is not
the farewell that makes me weep,
though that, too, but the way
that the girl and the gorilla
share a passion for art. It’s so good,
I say to my girl between sniffs,
it’s so rare and so good to find someone
who really understands you.
She looks at me as if she will never
comprehend how such a thing
could make someone cry.
My tears land on the end of the chapter,
leaving a wet trail I don’t
expect her to follow, not yet,
her small hand already
pushing on mine to turn the page.