Not Built Like That

This is Day 5 of the May "Open Write" on Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA.  

Today,  Kimberly Johnson references the book by Marlo Thomas, The Right Words at the Right Time and suggests we think about when someone's words have inspired us. I immediately remembered something my father shared with me, when I was 12 years old.

Not Built Like That

Dad heard my muffled cries

in the middle of the night, and

squeezed in next to me,

on the bottom bunk,

to hear what was wrong.

He responded with conviction and comfort,

“Oh, hon, that will never happen to you,

you aren’t built like that.”

I knew instantly, he was right.

This one miserable month,

when I was twelve years old,

I witnessed both

my mother and her mother

break with reality.

Hallucinations,

delusions,

mania,

full-on psychotic madness,

followed by

911,

ambulance,

hospitalization,

sedation.

By day, I was strong.

In the middle of the night,  

as the frightening images replayed,

I crumbled.

I knew,

I was next.

Grandmother,

mother,

daughter.

Only daughter, me.

Yes, I was next.

I knew.

I had solved an enormous,

terrifying puzzle

in the middle of the night, and

Dad convinced me 

my solution was wrong.

The dots did not connect.

Consoled, I went back to sleep, and

this sweet reassurance lasted

years and years,

until I was a parent myself, and

I realized,

with both understanding and appreciation,

Dad couldn’t possibly have known

I wasn't built like that.

Right words, right time.

Apr13Poetry - There's a Hand

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's challenge is to write a poem based on a dream or a nightmare; to begin, consider what happened in the dream, write down emotions associated with these events or moments, and then create a poem that is at least 15 lines long.


I keep thinking about my seventeen-month old granddaughter and a recent photograph, that shows nothing more than her hand...she has hidden herself inside a dark closet, delighted with this new game. This fascinates me; the dark is the stuff of my nightmares.





There’s a Hand

There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,

Fingers curled, reaching, grasping,

The breath is faint, labored, forced,

What moves in the dark, thrashing?

There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,

Which side of nightmare is worse -

Only a hint of what is emerging,

Or trapped within dark and cursed?

There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,

A brave, fearless detective

She chooses to look within the dark,

To explore new perspective.

There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,

Followed by giggles and pants

Just like Lucy in Narnia, she’s

Determined to take the chance.

There’s a hand sticking out of the closet

Breaking out, coming back to us,

Watch how isolation, dark, and scary

Meets daring and resilience.

There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,

Freely choosing the unknown,

She knows deep and dark is also free

There is much magic at home.