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.

Apr18Poetry - Both Sides

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 such a hard one! Oh my. The inspiration was Joni Mitchell's song "Both Sides Now" - we were to pick three topics and look at these from two perspectives. I listened to Joni Mitchell's amazing song, and could not get it out of my head. She focuses on clouds, love, and life. Here is my poem...I focus on night, home, and family. Ugh!

Monsters and bogeyman,

Ghosts hiding in the walls,

They’re awake while you sleep,

Don’t disturb them at all.

You stay in your bed

Pull your covers up tight,

Beware of the dark

In the middle of the night.

But now I see so much in dark,

Dreams, ideas, prayers, and books

When I wake in the middle,

It’s time for another look.

No reason to fear this

Instead take paper and pen

Write what I am thinking

Go back to sleep again.

I think and wonder about the night

I probably should know more,

What of stars, moon, owls,

and bats, to name only four?

No clutter and polished wood,

Sheets tightly made on beds

Mom kneels in prayer, curtains drawn

Dad’s working in the shed.

Follow the rules, no protest,

Be sure to do all my chores,

Then find my shoes and jacket,

Leave the cold and head outdoors.

But then I made my own home,

Wanting another way,  

The one rule: no silent treatment

We’ve honored to this day.

Three boys, messy rooms,

We laughed, sometimes we cried

All feelings were welcome

Home was a place we tried.

I think and wonder about home,

the touch of theirs on mine,

What changes might we make,

If we went back in time?

One man and one woman,

Holy marriage is the way,

Children need this structure,

Everyone would say.

Sheltered life limits the view,

Seems to shape children’s minds,

But I don’t think there’s any stop

To curious, over time.

Whether books, study, or travel,

I began to question it,

So many families

That this shell didn’t fit.

Teaching showed me even more,

Each family is unique

Together has so many ways

There is no one technique.

Whatever I think and wonder

About families, is just guess.

Isn’t it an illusion

To think we know what’s best?

Too much awake

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

A poem, written in the middle of the night, about being awake in the middle of the night. 

These days,

too much new and unusual exercise -

a long run,

a particularly hilly bike ride,

a novel and strenuous aerobics class,

and I am awake

in the middle of the night,

alert,

aware,

attuned.

These days,

too much drink -

whether wine,

or tea,

or simply water,

and I am awake

in the middle of the night,

nagged,

knotted,

noticing.

These days,

too much conversation -

old friends, laughing and recalling,

new folks, meeting and learning,

colleagues, sharing and debating,

and I am awake

in the middle of the night,

reliving,

replaying,

remembering.

These days,

too much food -

whether savory and spicy,

or chocolate and rich,

or copious,

and I am awake

in the middle of the night,

pained,

polluted,

promising to never again.

These days,

too much noise -

a sudden bump,

a clap of thunder,

an ambulance going by,

and I am awake

in the middle of the night,

tense,

twisted.

transfixed.

These days,

it doesn't take much,

and I am awake

in the middle of the night,

waiting,

wondering,

writing.