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| Santa Claus is on vacation, but Poetry Friday never rests! Thanks to Donna at Mainely Write for hosting this week. |
When last we posted, the gifts were wrapped, the in-laws were about to arrive, and we were preparing for a festival of eats that could have fed a bus-load of Shovans.
Our holiday table is a mash-up of traditions. Two of our five Christmas Eve fishes (rockfish and crab) were in the Maryland crab soup -- in honor of our adopted state
Our main course was Pasta Aglio e Olio with walnuts and anchovies my husband's Italian family only eats on Christmas Eve. If you make it right, the anchovies are not at all "hairy."
And for dessert on Christmas Day, I made my mother's English trifle. That's a story and a poem for another time.
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| A poem about my grandmother's Christmas trifle made its merry way to Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect for the Poetry Friday holiday exchange. |
A few days later: more family in Florida, meeting a brand new nephew for the first time, a snow storm, high school applications for my daughter, my son building his own computer, me participating in Pitch Wars (!) and getting an issue of Little Patuxent Review ready for press, and a house filled with life and cookies.
Then, this Monday, everything magically returned to "normal."
Whew! Hello, Routine! I missed you.
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It's around this time of year -- we're returning from the holidays, it's gray outside, and there's a full half of the school year to go -- that people get a little down. Not just us grown up writers, but our students and young friends, too.
Down Days
My
mom’s at work, my dad’s online.
No
one comes to wake me.
Even
the dog forgets he should
jump
on the bed and shake me.
My
socks don’t match. My hair poufs up.
My
homework isn’t packed.
My
lunch has only healthy stuff.
We’re
out of treats and snacks.
Dad
gets annoyed when I point out
I’m
going to miss the bus.
He
says he’ll drive if I’ll just stop
making
such a fuss.
Some
days are like a fast, cold stream
and
I’m a little fish
lonely
in this great big school
afraid
to make a splash.
Okay, okay. I admit that my first version of this poem had a different last stanza:
lonely in this great big school
afraid to make a splish (splash!).
I thought it was adorable, but no one else did. And my middle school daughter, she just found it confusing. It's one of those lines that's going to bother me forever.
For all of us feeling a little low, let's break out our light boxes, take the dogs for a walk, and get some sunshine.
You've got to love a routine that includes returning to Poetry Friday.
