All Your Lives, Your Sister and You Wore Long Braids

If you’re lucky, people in your life teach you things by example, like how to be strong and how to be brave. I had a friend who, when diagnosed with cancer and given a terrible prognosis, said to me, “Well, everyone dies eventually. It’s just a matter of when.” I have another friend who sold her house and so many of her belongings and moved solo across the country because she needed a life change. I have yet another friend who lost her father when he was too young and later her mother, and she grieved but she also got out of bed the next morning and took care of her son. 

If you’re lucky, and willing, you take these lessons and get a little braver and stronger yourself. And if you’re very lucky, your family members teach you, too. I’m one of the very lucky ones. My parents and sister have taught me how to be strong and brave and to have faith in myself.

The following poem by Jin Cordaro made me think about all these things. I read it months ago for the first time, yet it’s a poem I found so remarkable it hasn’t left me since:

This poem was first published in Cider Press Review and is reprinted here with permission from the poet. The title of this blog is the title of this poem. Thank you, Jin Cordaro, for this stunning poem. It’s become one of my all-time favorites.

It’s National Poetry Month. Every week during the month of April, I have shared a poem I love from a contemporary writer. I hope it piqued your interest in poetry, if it needed to be piqued, and that it showed you that a really great poem can be accessible to all. 

For next week, our final NPM week, I will be sharing a poem of my own.

If you missed the other poems I featured, you can find them here and here and here.

“See” you all next week!

Photo credit: Edan Cohen from Unsplash.com

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At the Office Holiday Party

Office parties can be wonderful, especially if your coworkers are your closest friends. I’ve had that. It’s made for late nights, tons of laughter, and occasionally great dancing, singing at the tops of our lungs.

But office parties can also be fraught with awkward moments. One time, at an office party many years ago, my boss told me he wanted to see me get drunk. Needless to say, I did not. At another office party in another year in another workplace, the big boss (the boss of the other bosses) tried to chit-chat and ha-ha-ha with all of the employees and act like we were all friends when really he never once asked any of us how we were really doing.

At another office party (different employer), this time for Halloween, I wore a wig (neon orange, pixie cut) and many of my co-workers didn’t recognize me. I’m not sure if that says more about them or me or our relationship with each other.

All of this brings me to the following poem by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz:

The title of this blog is the title of the poem. Poem copyright ©2009 by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz from her poetry collection, Everything is Everything (Write Bloody Publishing, 2010). Reprinted by permission of Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz and the publisher. First printed in Rattle, Vol. 15, no. 2, Winter 2009.

You can find Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz on Twitter & Instagram using the same handle: coaptowicz. A big thank you to Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz for letting me feature her work.

It’s National Poetry Month. Every week during the month of April, I will be sharing a poem I love from a contemporary writer. I hope to pique your interest in poetry, if it needs to be piqued, and to show you that a really great poem can be accessible to all. 

If you missed the other poems I featured, you can find them here and here.

“See” you all next week with another great poem!

Photo credit: Kelsey Chance from Unsplash.com

Right Here in the Cold Rain

When I was four years old, my father told my mother he wanted to go look at some German Shepherd puppies. Emphasis on look, not buy. But once he got there, a little golden ball of fur won him over, and this dog became our one—our only ever—family dog, Sable. My sister and I grew up beside her, and I ran around with her outside in all seasons, played hide-and-seek with her in the house, told her my secrets, whispered stories in her ear, fell asleep with her in the back seat of the car.

There’s something magical about animals. There’s something even more magical about kids with animals—no matter the animal. Sometimes I feel like children still know another type of language that allows them to communicate with animals in a way that defies words. 

Animals teach kids about love, and, eventually, also about loss. 

When I was sixteen, Sable started having trouble with her back legs, finding it more difficult to get up. When I was seventeen, my father took her to the vet to see what else could be done to help her as she was hardly moving from her bed. He came home with only a leash and a ton of grief in his hands, and I was never the same.

Which brings me to this poem by Joe Wilkins:

This poem was first published in The Sun and is posted here with permission from the poet. You can learn more about Joe Wilkins here. The title of this blog is taken from the last line of the poem. Thank you, Joe Wilkins, for this moving poem (but you’re making me cry my eyes out every time I read it!).  

It’s National Poetry Month. Every week during the month of April, I will be sharing poems I love from contemporary writers. I hope to pique your interest in poetry, if it needs to be piqued, and to show you that a really great poem can be accessible to all. 

“See” you next week with another poem.

Photo credit: Chandler Cruttenden

If you missed last week’s poem, you can find it here.

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Upcoming Online Writing Workshops