March 11, 2025

Dates matter. Especially the older I get, the more I attach connections, memories, and stories to dates. People say to leave the past in the past, and that is true for some experiences, but not all.

Today, I’m imagining what my mother was thinking and feeling 70 years ago, knowing that she would bring me home from the hospital the next day on her 2nd child’s 8th birthday. I was a 2 1/2 pound preemie born in the 1950s. Since my mother had 3 children at home, the hospital allowed her to bring me home earlier than normal. I did not yet weigh five pounds. My sister always said I was HER birthday present that year.

This has been a year of hospitalizations for my sister. Her health has measureably declined fairly rapidly. Today was our first outing that wasn’t a doctor appointment since September. Bright sunshine, warmer temperatures, a cute, little family-owned restaurant (The Wild Tomato), and time with my two older sisters was pretty darn great. We laughed, shared memories, told stories, and didn’t mention allergists, neurologists, or any other kind of doctor.

She helped care for me when I was tiny, and now I am able to help her. It’s a privilege I don’t take lightly.

Thank you to all who make this writing space
a place of safety, support, and beauty.

From Fear to Form

In recent years, I have enjoyed exploring poetry. Through the magic of Zoom, I have learned about so many current poets and their poems. Reading poems has led to writing prompts and my own attempts at writing poems. I get a lot of pleasure in playing with words and forms.

One form, however, has intimidated me and I told myself a story that I couldn’t write a pantoum. Until today. I’m taking a 6-class series called “Poetry is Life” taught by Ann Quinn through Yellow Arrow Publishing in Maryland. We usually study three poems each session and practice writing from them. The form we visited today was, for me, the dreaded pantoum. It seemed impossible to think of a topic that could become a pantoum. I didn’t know where to start. I even considered not trying.

Carefully, Ann walked us through Natasha Trethewey’s poem, “Incident” and essentially mapped the lines into a code I could follow as I wrote my own poem. I also learned that pantoums often reveal a narrative with layers of meaning.

Here’s my first pantoum:

Fine

He says he’s fine
after blood drenched his tie
I’m good, he says
bright red spots down his white shirt.

After blood drenched his tie
a friend stopped to help
bright red spots down his white shirt
It will be okay.

A friend stopped to help
He didn’t have to
It will be okay
but she’s not sure she believes

He didn’t have to
speak soothing words and take slow steps
but she’s not sure she believes
and kindness sometimes lies

Speak soothing words and take slow steps
I’m good, he says
and kindness sometimes lies
He says he’s fine.

Isn’t it so interesting that we can change the stories we tell ourselves? Today, I’m happy that some of my fears of new forms were set aside. I learned that a pantoum is actually a fun word puzzle. I am grateful to have teachers and other poets to guide me.

Thank you to all who make this writing space

a place of safety, support, and beauty.