Yesterday on Ethical ELA’s VerseLove, Scott McCloskey invited teacher-poets to compose around “tell me without telling me,” the popular social media meme from a few years ago: “Tell us (through vivid sensory details and whatnot) that you are __________ without telling us you are __________. ” In his model, Scott masterfully incorporated many fragments of famous poems that have inspired him to write, followed by this reveal: “Tell me you’re a poet without telling me you’re a poet.”
So for Day 9 of National Poetry Month, here’s mine… it incorporates bits I’ve written before… and there’s SO much more to write…
It all began, I suppose,
in a darkened room
when Grandma plugged
this thing called a color wheel…
it sat on the floor, rotating, illuminating
the all-foil Christmas tree.
There in the dark
the sparkling silver tree
transitioned to red, blue, gold…
a stillness, a riveting
There was a girl
in my childhood church
who played the piano
accompanying the sanctuary choir.
Once, she stood alone
in front of the handbell table
reaching, grasping,
her white-gloved hands
a blur of choreography
playing those bells solo
never missing a note.
She was sixteen.
a stillness, a holding of breath
I don’t remember
learning how to read.
It was just a thing I could do.
But in fourth grade, the teacher
(built like a mountain, with a face
and heart of carved stone)
read to us every day.
An intelligent, artistic spider
who saved a less-than-radiant pig.
A boy who didn’t want that annoying,
subversive, endearing, ol’ yeller dog
that ended up saving his life,
before picking up the shotgun…
My God. My God.
I almost died with that dog
and there have been books
in my hands,
in stacks by my bed,
ever since.
a stillness, an absorbing
There’s more, so much more.
At nineteen,
walking into the community theater audition
where the handsomest man I ever saw
sat with a script…
we were married in less than six months.
Thirty-seven years this summer.
Two years in, when he said he was called
to preach, I said
Well, you’ll be miserable
unless you do.
a stillness, an abiding
Our oldest son saying
over and over
I’ll never go in the ministry.
It’s too hard a life.
Not getting married or
having any kids, either.
Just after he enrolled
in seminary,
he met a lovely young lady
with a little daughter
named for the title character
of his favorite book.
In the fullness of time
and in the span of a month
he became a husband, father,
and pastor.
It was ordained. Jehovah jireh.
God provides.
Last fall, he named his newborn daughter
Micah. Which means
Who is like God?
Indeed, who?
I am still, and know.
*******
(Tell me you are awed without telling me you are awed)
(likely to be continued…)
lit bits and pieces 