Our Host today is Susie Morice, from St. Louis, Missouri where she taught in the classroom for thirty years and then for another twenty consulted, wrote, and edited educational publications, focusing on leadership in education. The National Writing Project, Gateway Writing Project, and Missouri Writing Project have guided her in her classrooms and life for decades. Writing poetry has been a passion from her first publication as a seventh grader to this day with the dedicated teachers of ethicalela. Over the years she’s added singer/songwriter to her daily art regimen. And a couple weeks ago resurrected her love of acrylic painting. Life is good!
Inspiration
Mining the data stashed in your junk drawer… we all have notorious “junk drawers” that yield evidence about our lives: defunct keys, old thumb drives, business cards from “who was this?” What we find has a slice of our identity. Let’s mine the rich ore within these veins and unearth the poem ….there’s lore in the ore, after all!
Process
Yank open the junk drawer (bin/garage crate/old box…) to reacquaint yourself with your treasures. As in any experiment, we collect data/artifacts (junk) that yield evidence (of who we are or who we were). Pull out one or two or three artifacts. Render from the junk a clearer image of who you are.
I used a pattern of “I found…” followed by an “I remembered…” to frame the stanzas. Feel free to borrow that idea or follow where your poem takes you.
As always, write what moves you today. Use whatever form works for you. Just enjoy finding of bit of yourself as you mine. And enjoy getting to know a bit better everyone here today on ethicalela.
Alternative idea: Conjure up the junk drawer of an imaginary person or a particular person…an ornithologist, a taxidermist, Ichabod Crane, Mary Oliver, Einstein, Buckminster Fuller, Patti LaBelle, Kate Chopin, Spiderman, Oprah, Darwin …
Susie’s Poem
MINING FOR IDENTITY
I found in a pantry drawer
cheesecloth of a fine weave
packaged and stashed
amid the Silpats,
and I remembered
I used to make ricotta
every week.
I found in my desk drawer
my pouch of sketch pencils
the artsy graphite kinds:
4B, 533-8B, 529-2B, 191-2, 557 HB,
a veritable trove of nibs in deep charcoals,
hard blacks, soft blacks, oodles
to doodle my sketches
into journals and onto the paper tooth
of sketch pads,
I remembered I was an artist.
I found in a basement drawer
tube upon tube of acrylic paints,
now dried and un-paint-worthy,
cad yellow, cad red, burnt sienna,
colors of lemons and children
playing in the snow,
I remembered I was a painter.
I found, tucked into the pages
of read books in my bedroom,
drafts of images
and reminders of great ideas
for poems yet to come,
I remembered I was a poet.
In the cubby of my guitar case,
I found picks and music store receipts
and tuners and capos,
humidifiers and first lines
of favorite songs,
I remembered I was a musician.
As evidenced by the treasures
in my cobwebby hideaways,
I remember that I was
and always will be
winging from limb to limb
in the free breezes
of art.
by Susie Morice, February 24, 2023©
Mentor Poem link from Devin S. Turk’s poem “Junk Drawer” in the Baltimore Review. I discovered Devin online, a young man with a talent for writing with delightful honesty and creativity. He is, as he proclaims on his profile on Short-Edition.com , autistic, trans, and dedicated to working through his writings for the rights of those disabled. A link to his poem is here:
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
This was such a fun prompt, Susie! Thank you!
On my desk there is a monitor stand with two drawers that hide enough things – that keep my desk just uncluttered enough to not trigger my anxiety.
In the right drawer important things and unimportant things rub elbows – my passport, a set of adult headphones, a set of blue toddler headphones, an assortment of fingernail polish. Checkbooks that get no use lay dusty beside a rogue pen or two.
The left side hides a picture of a black and white photo a friend took that I’ve been meaning to frame for a while now – it’s a trestle bridge in a rural Western NY field and deserves to be enjoyed by everyone and not just me. There are also pens, and journals that have just a few pages left in them. And post-it-notes of various sizes that I forget exist when I’m hunting for some.
I’m not sure what any of this means. Maybe it’s that I try to be organized but haven’t really gotten there yet. Or maybe it’s that I found a place for things that’d fit together in the space of the drawer to save space on my desk?
Or maybe yet it’s just that I’m not the everything-in-its-place kinda girl and I’ve accepted it?
In a small, but long kitchen drawer, spare keys have found their home.
In a drawer that is its twin…stubbly screwdrivers, various adhesives, and a 40 watt light bulb reside.
The drawers in my office guard a plethora of pens, markers, and highlighters;
Along with every other item from past school supply lists.
Notebook paper, spiral notebooks, and construction paper in assorted colors hide behind cabinet doors.
What do all these things say about who I am?
It is blatantly obvious.
These things say I am…surrounded by loved ones with severe hoarding tendencies.
Susie, what a great idea! Thank you for introducing Devin Turk as your inspiration piece, their poem is so vivid and engaging to read. I also like your example with the “I found” followed by the “I remember” lines. I’m going to give it a go with a bag I’ve been carrying around for the past couple weeks that needs to be cleaned out. After having written the poem, I realize that each of these receipts come with a memory of their own. This could end up being a book after all!!!
Title: Spent
I found a sleuth of “yes please” receipts —
EZ Go gas; The Turtle Stop gas, drinks, snacks
(big cheese pleaser);
Cinema 6 for Super Mario Brothers
with a large drink and popcorn combo;
water bill;
dentist bill;
postage for taxes;
road trip energy;
tapestry and short cable knitting needles;
Family Hair Salon children’s’ haircuts —
I remember I’d make a book
(that I won’t read)
of why I have no money.
Amber,
Yes, the detritus of a busy life stacks up accordion style in the bottom of my bag, too! Your items signal younger children than mine are, but I well remember those days. Thank you for the reminiscence!
THANKS to each one of you who opened a drawer and shared a precious piece of yourself in this amazing poetry family we have here. You are poets! You are teachers! You are amazing! We are family! Love, Susie
Late entry after celebrating my son’s birthday this evening. This was a fun prompt I’m going to want to revisit when I have more time. Thank you for the mind mining.
I keep
buttons from unknown clothing
still in little plastic baggies,
cards of thread
from sweaters long gone,
single earrings
missing their mate,
and jewelry all tangled up
that make me wonder when
and why I wore these things.
There are tags from clothing
with cool sayings or art–
but what do you do with those
other than stack them up?
Little gizmos that are now
unrecognizable from their purpose
fill little boxes and drawers
in my house,
like mind clutter made real,
I don’t want to throw
them out and away
for fear of losing myself
in the many
pieces of my past.
I do this too! You never know when you might need that little button! Or when the earring pair will show up! But I love how you gave it extra meaning at the end – “I don’t want to throw them out …. for fear of losing myself / in the many / pieces of my past.” I often take pictures of things before I throw them out so at least I’ll have that momento.
Cara,
I had a huge button and thread card collection I finally tossed. Those outlasted the clothes they came with. I love the metaphorical connection at the end:
“like mind clutter made real,
I don’t want to throw
them out and away
for fear of losing myself
in the many
pieces of my past.”
This makes perfect sense as a reason we hold on to so much junk.
Cara – And those “pieces of my past” hold such a strong pull over how we feel. I hear that hesitation in the voice, in the “what do you do.” You chose wonderful phrases like “mind clutter” and “gizmos now…unrecognizable” … We share so many of the exact same things in that drawer! Those sweater thread cards made me chuckle! When have I EVER mended a snagged sweater!? Ha! Thanks for sharing a thread that makes us a tighter community! Susie
Ahh, Cara, the ending got me:
“like mind clutter made real,
I don’t want to throw
them out and away
for fear of losing myself”
I still have old high school planners and college binders for this reason. Your poem validated my feelings and made me think about my own collections and “pieces of my past.”
Thanks for a fun prompt, Susie! Just so happened that a student offered to organize my desk drawers today so this added to the inspiration.
These days at school
every drawer feels like a junk drawer:
remnants and reminders of a time
when we didn’t have to worry about
charging, connections, or blue light-induced migraines.
The paper clips are corralled in
boxes except for the few that
creep out of their enclosure and
pushpins no longer fulfill their duties
of celebrating jobs well done.
Rulers don dust coats while
Post-its, index cards, lanyards,
travel sized bottles of lotion,
cough drops, mystery medications intended to alleviate
stress, exhaustion, and congestion,
languish in their misuse and
yet retain enough utility
to earn their keep.
Laura, I love how you touched on the fact that so many of the items in our desks are hardly needed any longer. I like “remnants and reminders” and the languishing medications that “retain enough utility / to earn their keep.” Well said!
Wow, this is real! Your poem made me wonder about what things we have already disappeared that used to be staples in classrooms – like pieces of chalk. And how long will it be before post-its, index cards, paperclips etc. are totally gone? I love your image of paper clips “creep[ing] out of their enclosure.”
Laura,
Your poem inspires me to compile a list of items I find in desk drawers when I sub. I try not to snoop, but occasionally I’m scavenging for the remote, a charger for a chrome book, a band aide, or a pencil. MS teachers are the best organized, Your poem is a perfect portrait of the typical teacher drawer full of unused stuff. I kept a cab opener, screwdrivers, a couple of knives (for cutting cake, lasagna, etc), Shakespeare band-aides, and a collection of old thumb drives in my teacher desk drawer.
Laura – I TOTALLY LOVE that school desk drawer! What a trove of gems that ID a teacher to the bone! I laughed out loud at those “blue light migraines”… heck I had completely forgotten about those. You so artfully give all this teacher my detritus a mind of it’s own, as it “earn[s] [its] keep.” I’m betting every teacher here tonight (well, this morning) has the identical teacher drawer! You could’ve written about my drawer and it would have been the same desk! We are teachers! So fun! Susie
Hi, Susie! Thank you so much for today’s prompt. I loved your poem showing your artistic nature. I could relate to so many things.
I, too, have different little things in different places of my home, but wanted to tell you about a little “treasure” box I keep full of very special things. I actually use it in my teaching of writing course for a few years now. Here is the story:
A Story Box
In my treasure box,
An old pocket book,
Kept from 8th grade,
A black-and-white photo
of my brother with his friend,
A birthday pin,
Given to me by my students,
A napkin, embroiled by mom,
And her silk scarf,
A champagne cork
from my first wedding anniversary,
Two little piggies on a key chain
And a watch from my kids,
Painted rocks from my friend,
And a few other things.
Each thing has a story,
A dear memory that
Reminds me of being
A teenager,
A daughter,
A sister,
A mother,
A friend,
A teacher.
Once a year,
I bring the box
To class,
Let my students
Choose an object
And make it their own
By creating a story
About it.
They share these stories,
Filled with joy or sadness,
I tell them the real ones.
We laugh, cry,
And become closer.
Oh, Leilya, what a precious pocket book full of stories. What a wonderful activity! Any college activity that makes this magic happen is to be protected: “We laugh, cry, / And become closer.”
This is so neat. I love that you keep that pocket book & do this activity each year. I love the concept that we can make objects our own by creating stories about them.
Leilya,
I love this idea of having students tell stories about your treasures that evoke memories for you. Knowing you do this makes the list of treasures more precious. You are amazing!
Leilya- OH MY GOSH, this is perfect!!! A writing treasure box is exactly what the National Writing Project has advocated for decades as an important way of building a writing community! Genius in how effective it works to tie you to your kids and to open their hearts to sharing stories. Your poem points to how items create identity in the the smallest of treasures. I particularly smiled wide at the champagne cork! Wow, you saved that! 👍🏼 Thank you for sharing this and even the photo! Great teacher! Great writer! I’m all smiles!😊 Susie
Leilya,
You are so brave! I’m not sure I’d want all those fingers on my treasures or the questions that my students would inevitably ask, but I love the concept. I’ve done a similar activity with random objects found in my junk drawers (but that I’m decidedly not attached to). Your lines reminding us/you of all your identities is particularly poignant. Thank you for sharing.
My nightstand drawer
Holds clutter I never tossed
there are 3 small notebooks –
the oldest one I started in college – classmates names and addresses, no doubt their parents
with notes collected while living in South America including the list of all we packed,
phone numbers were exclusively land lines, notes about the first house we bought
memories from my 20s
objects I use –
4 different essential oils – mostly woody scents
along with cuticle cream. tiger balm, lip gloss that’s being tossed tonight
my reading glasses used most nights
earbuds and earplugs due to my noisy sleeping partner
and for late night listening not to disturb the sleeping partner
I remember using them the night Lemonade dropped
and sweet memories like –
hand drawn mother’s day cards from the elementary age daughters
I can’t seem to throw away
along with stationary from my trip to England when I was in high school
span nearly 20 years
and more
Jamie, thank you for sharing. I felt like I was there with you, especially this line: “lip gloss that’s being tossed tonight” (I’m listening to Lemonade now!)
Jamie, this is a fun and eclectic collection. I love the juxtaposition of the old travel notebooks with the reading glasses. I think we all have things in our drawers that we can’t bear to part with.
I like the juxtaposition between the “clutter I never tossed” and the precious items that you’ve curated over the last forty years. It’s interesting what floats to the top
of the “keep” pile.
Jaime, your treasures are so relatable! I, too, can’t get rid of my kids’ notes, cards, and my own notebooks from decades ago. Yes, the names and addresses along with phone numbers of land line phones were a must for me as well. Thank you so much for sharing!
Sorry for the typo in your name, Jamie! 😊
Jamie – Your stuff .. all of it… so intentional! You have savored all these cool gems. I wish I’d save so many of the things you have in that drawer! Well, and a few that just made me laugh.. “tiger balm” that’s hitting the trash can tonight… ha! I have real reverence for some of the items that date all the way back to high school… what a great archive! Susie
Waves
I keep a collection of iPods
USB adaptors
even floppy discs
stuffed in tight tombs of time
also called junk drawers.
I keep that blue-checked dress–
that never-say-die Hello Kitty bathrobe.
I keep the black down coat that
suffered through endless spring soccer games
on windswept bleachers.
I keep the teacups
still packed in boxes
with my mother’s penciled notes
recording the history of
each butterfly-thin
palm made of bone.
All of these will wait
until the day
that opens like a wave
come to wash against the memories
to ride to shore
and back
and shore.
I love your ending and the thought of your belongings being swept out and back. To me the end feels open. I love your mom’s penciled notes recording the history of the teacups. You start with utilitarian items and move into items that hold memories. Thanks for sharing .
Allison,
Such a wonderful line . . .
Allison, what poetry here in your memories and things you keep. I love “to ride to shore / and back / and shore.”
Junk drawers as “tight tombs of time” – I want to start calling them that.
You had me at your first stanza with the electronics. My soon to be 30-year-old son was here at Easter and UNPROMPTED cleaned out a drawer of electronics he left here years ago when he moved out. I don’t know why I never did it, other than the suspicion he may one day need something from it. LOL. You’ve kept some lovely things.
Allison, this is so chock full of sweet memories and a lovely outdo but I love the image of you with a Hello Kitty bathrobe tucked into your closet the most!
Allison, so many beautiful lines in your poem! I love “the black down coat that suffered through endless spring soccer games on windswept bleachers.” Then the next stanza about the cups in the boxes with your mom’s handwriting. Thank you for your words!
Hi Allison,
The repeating of “I keep” gives me the feeling that you don’t care what anyone thinks about the things you’ve chosen to tuck away “until the day…” Sooooo good!
Allison – such gorgeous images… those genius phrases! “ tomb of time” (wowza!) and “never say die … Hello Kitty bathrobe” (LOL) and “each butterfly-thin/palm made of bone” (so exquisite!) and the image of you on those bleachers so frigid in the wind (Yeow) and the final cradling if the waves at the end (it rocks us like babies). Doggone girl, you have some poetry magic going on here. I love this!!! Susie
Susie, I LOVE the expanse of interests (and willingness to TRY) your poem exudes. I loved this:
in my cobwebby hideaways,
I remember that I was
and always will be
winging from limb to limb
in the free breezes
of art.
Your monkey imagery hit me in my playful, experimental heart! Brava!
Party Time
By Mo Daley 4/24/23
In my family, we share a procrastination gene
that manifests itself about three hours
before we host a party.
Why not clean out the junk drawer
rather than vacuum the living room
or freshen the bathroom towels?
Let’s see—
So many pens!
Scribble scribble scritch—
bring them to school.
How do you tell if batteries are good again?
Do I touch it to my tongue?
WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BEER CAPS IN THIS DRAWER?
I’m gonna kill him!
Is this a holy card from my boss’s dad’s wake?
That goes in the upstairs drawer.
How old is this notepad?
Why can’t I throw things away?
Oh, geez! Is that the doorbell?
Party time!
Mo — You made me laugh out loud… deciding to “do the junk drawer” right before a party…HA! But the voice is my fave… the questions you ask are so spot-on (how do you tell if a battery is any good)… so funny. The holy card…and instead of just wonderful you immediately know it “goes in the upstairs drawer”… another junk drawer???? LOL! Just such a terrific poem, top to bottom. Susie
Mo,
I couldn’t love this more! Kindred spirits we are! I am the master of having tons to do and then doing something that doesn’t need to be done and getting completely sucked in. This poem has so much voice! I hear you talking to us. I pulled three holy cards out of the drawer myself today to go into its determined place:
Mo, wonderful. All the questions are perfect for the task of cleaning out a junk drawer, and the fact that it is happening right before hosting a party is hilarious.
Mo! This is such a delight! I, too, have wondered why the pressure of one task (host a party) drives me to ridiculous diversions (clean out the junk drawer!). Your voice is so strong and honest here. I want to come to your party!
Mo, this is my husband. Always choosing the best time to “organize” the drawer. And, yes, your questions are perfect and show us a glimpse into who you are from a unique perspective.
No, this is delightful! I smiled all the time while reading, and then read it again, and smiled again. I love
“So many pens!
Scribble scribble scritch—
Bring them to school.”
That’s about me too. Thank you for such a treat today!
Susie, what a cool prompt! I love the way this phrase sounds, “cobwebby hideaways”. Brilliant!
I found, while washing my
face this morning, gray
almond shaped eyes, basically
slits (especially when I smile).
I remembered my grandma’s
grin and how her tiny blue
saucers twinkled in the sunlight.
I found, while combing through
tangled bed head, auburn strands
that have just gotten darker
the older I’ve gotten,
and it made me remember images
of mom with a dark waterfall of long
hair framed her face.
I found, while smiling to apply
blush, a square and protruding
chin like a shovel. I remembered
adoring my baby sister, years ago,
tracing her square chin,
as I rocked us to sleep.
Rachelle — You’ve done here something quite universal… that moment when you pause in front of the mirror and see all the faces that are in your own face. It’s haunting in some ways… I’ve seen my sisters in various parts of my face, and it unsettles me. In other stares I see my dad… it surprises me. I see another sister who basically looks nothing like me except when I set my mouth certain ways… these looks that you describe are amazing and something with which I can TOTALLY identify. Wonderful poem! I wish I saw my mom like you did…I only feel her in my heart…we looked so very different…but I love thinking of my heart and her heart being the same heart. Love your poem! Susie
Rachelle, I love how you can see your family in your features. I sometimes struggle to see those connections, or I see them where others don’t. I love those blue saucers and waterfall of hair.
Rachelle,
Wow! It’s pretty remarkable how you frame these verses in “I found” statements and create the points of connection across time. I really love the rhythm of the poem as you move though your details in the mirror and make your connections.
Rachelle, what a precious take on the prompt. I found…I remembered. I’m going to have to try this because I know there are things I see in myself, especially as I age. I love, especially the one about tracing your baby sister’s chin “as I rocked us to sleep.” Beautiful!
Oh WOW. This poem does everything for me:
1) It invites me in as you share your open thoughts about your eyes (thoughts I have about my own!)
2) It connects me to the times I’ve seen my parents in my own reflection/photos (with ambiguous feelings).
3) It MOVED me as you unexpectedly shifted from the “shovel” negative to its opposite in the baby’s face.
I just can’t tell you how much I love what you’ve done here in this space. <3
Rachelle,
This is so beautiful! You took the prompt and turned it in on yourself in such a fabulous way! Finding the pieces of your family in your own being really works–especially since I know what you look like. 😉 The stanza about your hair struck me as I used to be quite blonde, and then, well, I had kids. Now I’m brunette. Silly children.
Susie — Great prompt! Today was crazy busy, and I am late to the game, though this was a prompt what I could not wait to write to! I went to the garage, opened one of my memory boxes, and was inspired. Thanks!!
Opening a plastic box
In the garage
I found…
A white plastic gum container
Labeled “Your Memry Bocks.”
It was from my daughter.
And it
contained:
A butterfly band-aid,
A butterfly drawn on it with red marker
A tiny playing card from Chuck E Cheese
A purple drawing of “Mom” and “Alex,”
our stick figure hands thrown high in the air
with joy – or preparing to hug – or glad
to see each other
A red heart with the word “love”
inside of it
Two pennies
And a shiny royal blue string of beads
And I realized that
this was all she had to give me at…
5? 6?
It was more
than enough.
Yesterday
we spoke on the phone
for an hour,
the three and a half
hours between us
like smoke
as we laughed over
hijinks.
spilled tea,
consoled,
listened,
and shared.
And I realize now
that heartfelt giving
all of our lives
led us here,
to this air
stretching between us
that really feels like
no distance at all.
My Memry Bocks
“all she had to give me …it was enough”is such a fitting summary of gifts between loved ones. The conversations about those gifts are just as precious. So glad you have both and shared the memories with us.
Wendy, there’s so much of your daughter’s personality right away with “Labeled “Your Memry Bocks.”. I love that your poem connects the past to the present. You flawlessly bridge her 5? or 6? year old self to your current relationship. The ending is beautiful “that really feels like / no distance at all.”
Oh you are one of the blessed (I am too) to have a daughter 3 hours away still call you and talk about their lives. Wendy, I love the memory box and what was in it. So precious. I makes me want to gather up all the bits of memory I have scattered around the house and make memory boxes.
Wendy — This is soooo beautiful, so touching. You spill out a trove of hope and love and giggles. I loved the comparion … “like smoke”… the time just lifts away and “feeling like/no distance at all.” Lovely. So beautiful. Do share this poem with your daughter… it might be a lovely piece to read to her on Mother’s Day. 🙂 Susie
That’s a terrific idea! I will! :). Thank you!
Wendy,
The details of the memry box (so much meaning in the spelling!) is so rich, but my absolute favorite lines are:
Yesterday
we spoke on the phone
for an hour,
the three and a half
hours between us
like smoke
as we laughed over
The way you collapse time and space is so good!
Wendy, this is so precious! I love that you keep “Your Memry Bocks” with all these treasures in it. Being able to talk and share “that heartfelt giving” with each other regardless of distance is a gift. Thank you for sharing!
Wendy,
I can feel the mother-daughter love in your words. I love “memory bocks.” That is precious and perfect. The bandaid with a hand drawn bandaid deserves a frame. It’s a precious symbol of love and care and giving.
Susie,
Thank you for your prompt. While I didn’t have time to get into my junk drawer today, I did recently uncover some old photos in my attic which made me laugh.
Buried in the attic
in a dust covered box
I found a scrapbook.
Polaroid pictures fastened
with white photo corners on yellowed page,
captured the smiles of preteen girls
clad in tight Jordache jeans,
big haired 80’s girls on roller skates
bobbing and swaying to Patti Smith
and rolling “Round and Round” to Rat
as we circled the wooden floor
under a disco ball.
We thought we were so cool!
“big haired 80’s girls” – this was such a look! Eyeglasses were huge, too – how I laugh at these pictures now.
Tammi, this is awesome. I can totally picture the polaroid pictures! There’s so much movement and life in this poem: “as we circled the wooden floor / under a disco ball”. Thanks for sharing!
Tammi,
Love this memory! I smiled with recognition at the memories and the warmth of your memory shines through in your description!
Tammi, I love how you pulled me completely into your poem, the jeans, hair, and disco ball shine brightly. Ahhh, I cherish the times I thought I was cool! Love your very relatable poem!
Oh, Tammi — You transported me… super details. Jordache jeans! OMG! “Photo corners”… YES! I could see you “bobbing and swaying to Patti Smith”… and that is just plain musical! “Disco ball”… holy Moses… you were — we were — COOOOOOOL! To be sure! LOL! Wonderful poem! I’m grinning ear to ear! Susie
I love the specificity of your details. They cause me to remember those picture corners my grandfather and mother always used. Your pictures capture the memories music and motion.
Susie, thank you for this! So fun!
fond of junk?
here’s a scrap
of family lore
two souls
who married into
each other’s life
upon seeing
a brand new
kitchen,
one tossed out
oh, how beautiful!
you have room
for several
junk drawers!
which
the second
tore apart –
we will NEVER
have a junk drawer
in this house
truth is
the world
is divided
into two
highly partisan
camps
those
who see
Just
Unnecessary items that
Never should have been
Kept
and
those
who see
Jewels
United for
Not yet revealed
Key moments
I fall into
the latter
drawer
What
about
you?
Maureen,
I giggled when I read this interior monologue:
“oh, how beautiful!
you have room
for several
junk drawers!”
And I absolutely love the two acrostics you built into your poem. Very clever, indeed.
This was quite an argument between in-laws – I was only an observer. Years ago. Always makes me chuckle….
Maureen, I’m laughing at the thoughts of several junk drawers and love your acrosticized definitions of junk!
Maureen, I’m with you: “I fall into / the latter / drawer,” too! (And I love your opening: “here’s a scrap / of family lore.”) Thanks for this!
Maureen, I fall into the later and look forward to the jeweled moments described by so many other contributors today. Junky jewels unite us.
Tanks for sharing both acrostics.
Maureen,
Haha, I loved your newly-coined acronyms for junk! This was great! And I am a big fan of not only the junk drawer, but many, many junk compartments of all shapes and sizes! 🙂
Wow, I love all the voices in this poem. I’m with you! You just never know when a key moment might arise and you need that certain something:)
AHAHAHA… so fun, Maureen… the JUNK and JUNK. Yup, I think I’m in your drawer. How glorious to walk into a kitchen and see “room for 2 junk drawers”… aaaah, take me, I’m yours! My kingdom for another drawer! Love this! Susie
Oh, I am definitely the latter as well:
Jewels
United for
Not yet revealed
Key moments
I do have a junk basket now, and it does have all those jewels, just in case. What a great story you tell here!
This is great! I’m definitely in the “Jewels United” camp! Apologies to the Marie Kondo crowd… But I love how you frame this break.
Maureen!!! I LOVE THIS!! I had no idea what was coming because your opening gave no hints about the treat the poem would reveal! I am one who would be just fine without a junk drawer but still have one. Haha!
Susie, thank you for your prompt today. I literally and figuratively am swimming in junk. I’ve recently tried to purge a room in my basement……it’s an impossible chore. So, the mention of junk drawers etc. had me going down a lot of avenues today. I love your poem, the positivity of your artist’s soul “winging from limb to limb”. What a perfect descriptor of your creative spirit. My poem is inspired by Little Big Town’s “The Wine, The Beer, The Whiskey” which inspired me as I tried to clean my house this afternoon.
Drowning in Junk
my life is full
a shallow bowl
overflowing with junk I need to hide
like the gleaming knives
I like to hone
I’m a junkyard dog with a tasty bone
I can’t get rid of the debris
don’t matter what it is
I’m gonna hide it inside
the times, the tears, my heart sees
all my feeble attempts to fix me
I’m not saying it’s a problem
I can stop hoarding if I wanna
but the times, the tears, my heart sees
knows my junk is trying to drown me
where should I hide
all the things I’d like to deny
the trinkets, the memories, the lies
I hope to blind my eyes
pitch it all away, but it’s here to stay
all the sordid junk stored away
lots of lead and itty-bitty pills
don’t’ matter what it is
I’m gonna shove it inside
the times, the tears, my heart sees
yeah, I got some troubles haunting me
I’m not saying it’s a problem
I can stop hoarding if I wanna
but all this junk inside
it needs a place to hide
it’s too scary to let outside
Barb Edler
24 April 2023
Barb,
Thete are so many layers—literally and figuratively—to this heart-tugging-strings poem, beginning with the opening lines:
“my life is full
a shallow bowl”
And the line “I’m not saying it’s a problem” is am ironic commentary on how we try to clean out the mind’s junk drawer as we try to decluttering our homes. There’s a push and pull to these struggles. Wherein lies the struggle? I think about all I hide inside as I read your words. I also hear musicality i. this poem and think you should send it to Little Big Town. It’s a country song awaiting recording. Love it.
Oh, Barb, my heart feels the stress of letting go but not allowing oneself to let go.
It flows like the speaker is care-free but we know the burden is there. Wow. My mom would agree with the sentiments of letting the junk hide. She hated when I cleaned out her stuff.
💜
Barb,
Your poem is so beautiful in its truthfulness. Often it does feel impossible to climb out of all the things (life, heartache, possessions) we bury ourselves in literally and figuratively. The repetition of “the times, the tears, my heart sees” was really effective in pulling me in. I felt this!
There is such great mental exploration here, Barb. We, too, were absolutely overflowing with stuff…we’ve been helped by the recent remodeling we did, but already my new kitchen has a stuffed ‘junk’ drawer. Ugh. This line “I got some troubles haunting me” – I find it’s troubles, it’s memories, it’s being overwhelmed, it’s always something that keeps me from culling….
Barb, I hear this spoken. The truth, the voice, the passionate inflections of words. I can see someone – you – on stage, reciting this straight from
the heart and everyone cheering wildly!
Barb! I feel the beats! What inspiration from the Wine, Beer, Whiskey song, with the echoing of “I’m not saying it’s a problem/I can stop if I wanna”…which you wove so seamlessly into decluttering! Or trying to declutter, that is. Your lines are so laden with layers of fears and needs…it actually made me think of the show Hoarding: Buried Alive and the intense emotions the sufferers experience, trying to let things go. A terrible, sad thing to see. Your poem in some ways feels like it’s giving voice to them in their great vulnerability…especially “my junk is trying to drown me” and “but all this junk inside/ it needs a place to hide/it’s too scary to let outside.” While hanging on to stuff is, for most of us, out of nostalgia or thinking we might, just might, use it again (until we get frustrated enough to pitch it), to actual hoarders, the stuff represents security…it IS frightening to them to lose it, even when their junk is drowning them (one man’s sofa and bed were completely hidden under his amassed stuff). I say all this to say – what a moving and deeply stirring poem. I so want to help and comfort the speaker! Magnificent poem-crafting!! Now I feel I must clean around here…
Oh, Barb, you are so beautiful. “the times, the tears, my heart sees” Yes, indeed, your heart does see.
I can picture you reciting this as spoken words poetry. You are growing as a poet, and this one shows it.
Barb, this was beautiful. Loved the assonance that made it so plaintive. It read like a song. Loved the repetition and rephrasing/reframing right here:
“the times, the tears, my heart sees
all my feeble attempts to fix me
I’m not saying it’s a problem
I can stop hoarding if I wanna
but the times, the tears, my heart sees
knows my junk is trying to drown me”
Barb — The repetitions give a bit of a haunting in that “shallow bowl” where “the times, the tears, my heart sees.” I have a friend who has saved soooo much stuff…I tease her about hoarding but it is all stuff that matters deeply to her…it connects her to happy places in her heart. Who can argue with that…other than we argue with ourselves. We’re always pretty darn hard on ourselves. I think the line”I hope to blind my eyes” might have a whole other poem that needs to come forward! What our eyes see and don’t see. Now, I need to clean up my house! I see a big mess! 🙂 Hugs, Susie
Friend,
Time and again your poems invite me into further knowing you. I felt reverberations to yesterday’s rapping prompt as you played with rhymes throughout.
These were lines that zapped me:
“I’m a junkyard dog with a tasty bone”
“my heart sees
knows my junk is trying to drown me”
“deny
the trinkets, the memories, the lies”
“lots of lead and itty-bitty pills”
AND THIS: “all this junk inside
it needs a place to hide”
Wow, I found myself highlighting every line. So honest, visual, gutting. Thank you.
Barb, you got me at “I’m the junkyard dog with a tasty bone.” Just that would be enough for me. But then you built the tension with “the times, the tears, my heart sees,” and “I’m not saying it’s a problem,” leading to the final “it needs a place to hide // it’s too scary to let outside.” It makes me wonder about some of your memories. Thank you for sharing!
Time Past
I found in my drawer
three frozen watches
(one cutesy aqua, one through twelve
around the circle in fancy silver curls
one practical black rubber, digital time stamp
with buttons for modes, timers, alarms
one elegant name brand leather with
a rose gold face, ticks in place of numbers)
and I remembered
all the moments that were;
a stream of Rachels
glancing at their wrists
receding into the distance
too small to decipher;
all the versions of myself
that are slipping further away
as the seconds tick on
unrelenting.
Rachel, what a fascinating self-reflection poem here. It’s amazing about how accessories show a part of our lives. I love how you connect the watches with the changing of your life. Provocative poem!
Rachel,
These lines –“all the versions of myself/that are slipping further away” — so powerful!
Sometimes I feel this way too, especially when I look at my children who have grown up in a blink of an eye. I wonder how it happened so fast. As you say ” the seconds tick on unrelenting”
Three frozen watches – what a gorgeous way into thinking about time passed.
And this,
“all the versions of myself
that are slipping further away”
wow. Just phenomenal.
How are we ever supposed to let stuff go, when it takes us down memory lane like this?
Oh my goodness. This is stuff for a novel. Symbolism and style! Wow!
Rachel, this is beautiful in its self-knowledge and wondering. “and I remembered…a stream of Rachels” Wow! Also, the description of these watches as “frozen” adds so much to the story, the opposite really of “seconds tick on / unrelenting.” It’s given me pause today.
Rachel — I like the sense of time ticking away…. the “stream of Rachels”… a neat way to depict the movement of time. I loved the idea of watches being “frozen”… and chance for us to see time hold still for a moment. Susie
Rachel,
This is AMAZING. And quite trippy and scary, lol.
I love how you begin with frozen watches – cementing the idea that the time linked to the watch is frozen. I love how you link your memories to the watches – different versions of you – and your final lines – all the versions of myself/that are slipping further away/as the seconds tick on/unrelenting. Are they unrelenting?
Whoa, Rachel, this is intense and beautiful all at the same time!
So much to savor and sit with! Brilliant approach to the prompt and your poem will stay with me as I’ve been pondering all the versions of me lately. Aging will do that to you. LOL.
Thank you!👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
What a great prompt, Susie! I love how you grabbed something specific and then told what you remembered being through it.
I opted to open the two junk drawers and just start listing so that this poem will always remind me of tidbits of who I am/we are. The funny thing is . . . I moved and rearranged and picked up and tossed aside, but I didn’t throw one thing away. It’s not junk. It’s a time capsule!
Junk?
batteries
a screwdriver
a roll of velcro
a tape measure
an old Christmas card
some nuts, bolts, and screws
a defunct garage door opener
three lanyards and a keychain
a personalized soccer mom button
a birth announcement, a prayer card
three old phone chargers and a golf ball
four homemade masks from Covid days
a burned CD, two eyeglass cases, holy water,
immunization record books, old savings passbooks
a picture of us when we looked much, much younger
two handmade Christmas gift tags that didn’t get laminated
a postcard from our daughter from her study abroad in Ireland
two iPhone cases that never found a home and never got returned
hand sanitizer, an expired driver’s license, and fridge light bulbs
a koozie from the first same-sex wedding that we attended
a Godchild visor clip that I must have forgotten to give
a collar for an electric fence that two of our dogs wore
a set of storytelling dice and a red IU Mom button
eye glasses wipes, index cards, and some staples
paint sample chips and a wooden stir stick
a Strassenfest button and an IU ticket stub
sheets of yard sale pricing stickers
binder clips and five DQ dollars
a recipe for Bev’s Cherry Pie
an Elect John Birk ink pen
three pairs of cheaters
fifteen ball point pens
a travel-size perfume
straight pins (ouch!)
a hospital bracelet
felt furniture pads
a baggy of coins
a Snapple lid
kebab sticks
push pins
an ipod
cards
us
~Susan Ahlbrand
24 April 2023
I love how you’ve formatted this poem, Susan. You definitely have a time capsule through this catalog of things. I had to laugh at your straight pins line as this is easily relatable. Love how you ended with “us”. Very illuminating poem about all a junk drawer can hold.
Susan, I love this! I love the shape of it (almost as much as what it “represents” — “It’s not junk, it’s a time capsule!”) I’m right there with you! It’s so funny/interesting what we keep for later. Who knows if we could use this “Snapple lid” in the future, better put it in “The Drawer.” Lol.
Wowsa! This really is a time capsule! And your formatting, it could almost be a tornado. This certainly shows how things grow over time…and how very hard it is to let go of things.
Susan,
I smiled as I read your list of items in your junk drawer, especially these items: “defunct garage door opener, a burned CD, a hospital bracelet, felt furniture pads.” Are you sure you weren’t rummaging through mine?
Boom, Susan. Nailed it by shape, by item, and by honesty. Love everything about this.
Oh, my goodness, this is so visually beautiful. It conveys the importance of each item, like they aren’t just random things in a drawer, but if one was missing it would definitely be noticed. There would be a hole in your poem.
This made me smile:
and I have a hospital bracelet in my drawer too.
And that last line is perfection.
Susan — This list is ABSOLUTELY a time capsule. The list was so much like my own junk drawer[s] that it’s amazing. I laughed out loud at “fridge light bulbs”… where else do you store something like a fridge light bulb…indeed…in a junk drawer. But the list is just a whole identity box. It’s a life! I have my early-on 2020 homemade masks in a junk drawer…washed em over and over and made them out of slips of fabric I had stored in similar fashion in junk crates from eons ago. LOL! The evolution of covid. Geez. Life is chocked full of little stories in the drawer. Loved this sooooo much! Hugs, Susie
Ohmigosh, a pile poem was perfect for this! Loved all of the detail — and that final last word!
I am in awe! The form, the specificity of so many different items, and the memories that must have almost toppled you over after writing this gift of a poem! Blown away, Susan! I would love to have watched you explore all the contents here.
I❤️it all!
I just love this – its shape and form and content! Thank you!
Eyes Wide Shut
A well-known poetry professor
Furtively gave me a manila envelope
At Barnes and Noble
Out spilled photocopied poems
About eyes
Human eyes, cow eyes,
Green eyes, deep set eyes
Drink to me only with thine eyes
Ben Jonson’s most famous song poem
I was flattered
I thought it was weird
Though cool at the same time
I have the eye poems
In my junk drawer
Along with my
Fierce Fairytale Artistry Palette Eyeshadow Kit
With colors like
Temper, 90’s Thriller, Chai Latte Please
With my Lancome Hypnose Mascara
Oh, How I loved to do my eyes!
Fast forward twenty-five years
Mine eyes have seen the glory and have shed many tears
And now my windows to the soul needs
Cetaphil Hydrating Eye Gel
For sensitive eyes
Found in the top drawer of my vanity
Jennifer,
I want to see all those eye poems! This really excites me. I agree: creepy snd fascinating. I love how you wove the Ben Johnson line into your poem, as well as the song lyric and the movie title. Be sure to use only eye drops w/ out preservatives. Fantastic poem.
I love how eyes have been a big part of you life, Jennifer, and I like the colors you have mentioned. What I wonder about is why a poetry professor would give you an envelope with eye poems. Did he know you previously? Did you share an interest to him when meeting him? That is a mystery to me.
Jennifer, the process of your poem is amazing. I love how you begin with a specific memory and then show the items that are with your folder of eyes. Then how this leads to the emotion of living life and how we must deal with our emotions: “Cetaphil Hydrating Eye Gel” Yes! Wonderful storyline!
That is one weird gift – and yet, your drawer has such a creative theme…I think you need to create wall art, a shadow box of some sort with a collage of items. This is cool!
Jennifer,
I can totally relate to this “And now my windows to the soul needs/
Cetaphil Hydrating Eye Gel”. I’m right there with you!
Mine eyes have seen the glory and shed many tears is a favorite here! I have dry eye and can relate to this in such close ways. Love the way you color these words!
AHAHA, Jennifer, this gave me a giggle. I too have had a fascination with eyes… I have my dad’s baby blues. Until I started to sag and fade and droop, those ojos were reliable…I could see great, they were a great color and countered other parts of me that didn’t thrill me. But now, I too, need the eye drops and have battled failing vision.
I am fascinated by the professor with the envelope. What?! I loved all the eyes
I love the journey of your eyes over time, right down to “the top drawer of my vanity.” 🙂 Fun poem! Susie
Jennifer, loved this! The juxtaposition in it was thought-provoking and arresting — the end made me smile.
Susie,
You sent me on a scavenger hunt w/ this prompt. I don’t have a junk drawer. I do have a hole chest inscribed by my grandfather; it’s stored lots of old papers and few household goods through the years. BTW, I love the mentor poems. Why am I not surprised you made cheese and are an artist. You’re a renaissance woman!
Word Junk
fossilized locution
piled into school folders
typed in fading ink on
crinkly onion paper
letters from the pen
pal man I met & married
who went his way after
forgetting until death do us part
yellowed hallmark
greeting cards filled with
congratulations for new
baby boy born 1984
detritus word junk
musty & moldy artifacts
stored in my fading memory
rotting in an old oak chest
—Glenda Funk
April 24, 2023
—-
Pictured: The hope chest my grandfather made and inscribed 1971. I watched him make it but didn’t know it was for me. My new dog sneaked into the photo.
Glenda, these types of chests are a memory unto itself. I love the image of it and how you’ve captured important moments from your life such as a divorce and a baby boy born in 1984. (BTW, I have a son who was born in 1984, too). The last stanza I think is very sad because of your word choice, “musty & moldy artifacts/stored in my fading memory/rotting in an old oak chest.” I thought a lot about fading memories today as I contemplated writing my poem. Unearthing these special or moldy things can be lovely but also terribly sad knowing those times are long gone and possibly forgotten. Heartfelt poem full of clear imagery that pulls at my reader’s heart.
I think my ‘word junk’ is the most challenging category to cull. To read and peruse – time stands still, stories emerge, my thoughts just swirl and swirl. What a gorgeous chest within which to keep these treasures, Glenda.
Glenda – A beautiful piece for your grandfather! And a PUPPY…oooo!
I enjoyed the peek at the artifacts…the onion paper surely dates the find…the “pen/pal” who skipped the “death do us part” part… geez. Loved the words… “detritus word junk” and the “fading”… we surely know that fading memory and ink attached to the stuff of our pasts. It’s funny how 1971 doesn’t seem that long ago until I actually count the years… 52 years ago…dang, I’m getting old. LOL! Aah, all the more artifacts and stories. 🙂 Hugs, Susie
Glenda, such a great juxtaposition of words with memories, of the forever living with the “rotting” and “moldy” artifacts. Such a shift in tone. Loved this!
I think it is precious that you watched your grandfather build that chest not knowing it was for you, Glenda. How special that is? In the 70s, I wanted a hope chest too, but I didn’t get my own. Later, I used my mom’s and now my daughter uses it.
The way you describe the old papers in your hope chest really transports me to being there and seeing them. The words: “fossilized” “typed in fading ink on / crinkly onion paper” (I remember that!)
“yellowed,” “musty & moldy,” “rotting” really show the relatively short life cycle of papers. The specific examples of the pen pal letters and the Hallmark card about your son’s birth are poignant.
Awwww, Glenda, my heart pulled in so many directions! I was captivated by onion skin paper! OMG, when was the last time I even saw onion skin paper???? How did it feel after all these years? I want to know more about the “pen pal man” you married/divorced. So intriguing!
Your grandfather was a skilled craftsman! I hope your grands will cherish it forevermore.
Thank you for an awesome prompt, I had fun with this one today! I love reading everyone’s perspective on the prompt! May all your spirits be blessed.
Tempting Awareness
Pearl and Nero glared at the drawer.
Nero said, “open it!”
Pearl said, “what for?”
Nero
“To see the life of a frail old person,
Who left this drawer in desertion!
I’ll pull it out to see,
All her negativity.
Hair bows, clips, and broken mirrors,
Cards, and trash of sinners.
This drawer will tell her history,
About whom she could not be.
All the things she did not do,
All her wishes never came true.
A sad sack of flesh stuck in this wood.
Never tried, so she never could.
Wrinkled lottery tickets that didn’t win,
She wanted to write but here is her pen.
Or the wadded invites to events,
Useless as this change – fifteen cents.
The old biddy crammed frustration into this drawer.
It exhibits her life, but what did she live it for?”
Pearl
“You’re wrong on so many levels,
She lived freely in her revels.
I’ll pull it out and see.
All her positivity!
Hair bows, clips, and a mirror,
Cards from the heart are dearer.
This drawer will tell the history,
Of the woman, all of us want to be!
She walked proud wearing this old pin,
Teacher of the Year she did win,
What about this ribbon of first place,
And a dusty bible, she used for grace.
There’s no trash, just recants,
This is only her life at a glance.
Her life changed many times in between,
She left her home at age fifteen.
Started a business and got married,
Wrote this book, Voices Carried.
Raised two sons and a daughter,
All graduated college with honors.
A beautiful lady stowed her past into this drawer,
She gave to others and so much more!”
Nero
“Look how many times she was arrested,
Teacher of the Year got tested.
She wasn’t all -she was cut out to be,
Poor and pitiful, just a nobody!”
Pearl
“She led protests on the square,
She fought for what she thought was fair!
She was everything to this town,
Read this article, about her, called Turnaround?”
Nero
“All these keys cluttered in this drawer,
Nobody has that many doors.”
Pearl
“Those are quite a mess,
They are not for doors, but success.
For every time she moved on,
She kept a key to where she belonged!
Reminding herself to keep growing,
Only physically was she slowing.”
Nero
“Pearl, why do point out all the certain?
You know she was not a good person!
Here is a knife tainted with blood,
She murdered her only love!”
Pearl
“A strong woman no doubt,
Self-defense is what it was about.
This news clipping shows,
He was an escaped convict on death row.”
Nero
“But she died poor as dirt,
Left her family in a world of hurt.
No money, no land,
Just a burnt house and this dresser stand.”
Pearl
“Her family has land of their own,
They cry for their mother, who died alone.
She left her books and her good will,
In this drawer, they can visit her still.”
Nero
“I’ll close the drawer of negativity,
It is filled with her impossibilities.”
Pearl
“I’ll leave it open so others can see,
She attempted all of life’s possibilities!”
Whatever you leave in your drawer today,
Will determine what people have to say.
Did you live your life to the fullest?
Was the love in your heart the purest?
Did you fight when it was time?
Did you write down all your rhymes?
Are you saving all your keys?
To unlock all life’s possibilities?
Your junk drawer is full of decisions,
Does Pearl or Nero focus your vision?
-Boxer
Holy smokes, Boxer, you have captured such a provocative narrative of a life and how it can be viewed both positively and negatively. I like how you end with all of these questions. I hope you’re able to share this with students to have them discuss all the layers of subtext that are offered in your poem. Amazing work!
Boxer — I’m always taken by your poems and this one is no exception. The two perspectives a terrific setup to understand a complicated and strong woman. Nero and Pearl certainly laid out the way one person can be assessed, perhaps totally missed, perhaps dead-on accurate. I’m voting for Pearl’s view. I especially loved the keys:
You give us pause to think about what our artifacts will tell…so important to look beyond the surface, to soak up the stories and hold them dear. My junk drawer[s] are indeed “full of decisions”!
Terrific poem! Thank you. Susie
Oooh, such thought provoking call to action questions at the end. I like the line best that says nobody has this many doors. I like this conversation style poetry! At the end of April you will have another book of poems ready to publish, right? This one is a favorite already!
Boxer, loved this! What a great positioning of the arguments against each other, and loved how the end wrapped things up with your series of rhetorical questions. This was inspired, truly!
Susie, Stories take a little longer tell, but here’s mine about memories evoked by something in the closet.
Good in the Hood
Thinking of the hood on the jacket in the closet
I begin to reflect, to smile, and to posit.
Remembering the good in the hood.
When I needed a tutor, it was a teacher down the street
Who arranged twice a week for us at her house to meet
She taught me Latin but then advised me to switch
Speaking a spoken language would help racism to beat.
“What do you mean?” I asked with a lean,
Leaning in to check out her face;
It was chocolate brown like mine
Rather dark for our race.
She shared a story of attending a conference in the South.
And was accepted into a restaurant that had told her to stay out.
They’d turned her away. But she and her friends returned the next day.
Other teachers in the group, a well-educated Brown troop.
This time perfect French came out of her mouth.
When they appeared as African Americans
They had been asked to leave
Returning in style, likely wearing gele head rap
They grinned when they were well received.
The restauranteurs had fallen for the trap.
This lady from the hood was more than she seemed.
It was she who mentored me through college with plans well schemed.
Move on to campus and avoid the fuss of riding the bus.
Check out government programs for those who maintain Bs.
But do not drop out if you happen to get Cs.
Like the hood in my closet, this lady from the hood did me good
She helped protect me from doubt and kept me from copping out,
When I did get a “D,” she appeased and teased but still
“No dropping out! Just sit a while and chill.
“No excuses”, she’d admonished. “I’m not going to let you slide.”
For years, she remained my model and guide.
“You’ll get your degree, with or without me.
And when you do, do for others what worked for you.”
Anna— a beautiful tribute! What a gift she presented to you —practical, real, and totally on your side. Everyone should have a lady from the hood. And you are doing for others, as she asked. (I loved the tale about the restaurant!!)
Wow Anna ! That’s a beautiful tribute to your mentor and I know it applies to so many other mentors. You’re reminding me of the Methodist church ladies who encouraged me.
These lines really spoke to me, ““No dropping out! Just sit a while and chill.
“No excuses”, she’d admonished. “I’m not going to let you slide.”
For years, she remained my model and guide.”
It speaks to all of the different types of encouragement we all need and receive. I remember learning about the
Sit-Ins in North Carolina. Thanks for bringing that information into your fabulous poem.
Anna — I loved this story…that incredible voice that had your back and rested on your shoulder like an angel. Wonderful. The incident at the restaurant…oh my gosh…RICH! How steaming hot it would make me to have such a rat get away with out and out racist conduct like that. I loved the “Brown troop” proving that rat to be just what he was. Strong women, strong voices, bold “good trouble.” I enjoyed the play on “hood”… fun wordplay. I’m so glad this Latin teacher was part of your life. Yea for her and for you! Great piece! Thank you for telling the tale. Susie
Anna, this was just a beautiful tribute! Loved the wordplay, the rhyme, the rhythm of it, and your story was gold. Thank you for sharing this!
Susie, what a magical prompt. It makes me want to look into every closet and drawer, but today I stuck with one, my favorite. Oh, I love the bits and pieces of your artistic life found around your place, and I’m so glad to hear you dusted off the acrylic painting skill, probably with new paints. This is fabulous: “I was / and always will be / winging from limb to limb / in the free breezes / of art.” Like Ann said a true-renaissance queen. Devin’s section about “the only battleship / I can hold in the palm of my hand” is my favorite.
——————————–
Keepsakes
I gave myself a drawer to store
a lifetime of toys and memories:
· Precious bookmarks–each with a story
· my Covid diary
· a 50-yen bank note from 1940
(I just used Google Lens to identify that)
· other currency—riyals, rupees, dinars
· coins—including three silver dollars
with the birthyears of my grandparents
· a tiny worry doll
· a homemade piano solo CD of my daughters’ playing
· my birth year coin set
· early publications of mine
· Fazal, (a little frog a student made for me)
· a Tell-A-Tale Disney book called Beaver Valley
(that my mom bought me in the grocery store
in first grade when I learned to read)
· a letter from my older brother about my upcoming wedding
· the original Life magazine issue with
an “unprecedented photographic feat in color”
of the “Drama of Life Before Birth”—from 1965–
the same year my very first nephew was born
with multiple birth defects from first trimester rubella
· a manicure set my brother gave my grandma in 1954
· 28 peace doves from the hearts of sand dollars
· my first passport
· dried flowers and a journal from a trip
across the west when I was a junior in high school,
· Fonzie socks my mom and sister got me
(randomly for Valentine’s Day one year)
· my baptism certificate
· my husband’s baby book
(holding his only keepsakes, safely tucked into the mess of mine)
· my first letter to the editor
(when I finally became brave enough to speak up in public),
· a folder of letters from authors to my students
(before the Internet and webpages)
· a tiny wool lamb,
(remnant of an over-the-top sheep collection I once held)
The drawer is accessible,
next to my bed in the bottom drawer of my nightstand.
I look forward to the day when my grandson will sit on the floor,
looking through my riches,
asking “What’s this?”
and I will give him
whatever he wants.
Denise,
I notice you traveled back in time from most recent to early life and returned to the present, going full circle w/ plans to entice your grandson with your collection of memorabilia. I love the bulleting and the parenthesis, especially the side anecdotes these set off. Since you have a lot of stuff in the drawer next to the bed, where do you keep the books? Ha! I learned lots about you as I mined these artifacts, and I’m fascinated by that Life magazine article. That’s a relic and a treasure.
Denise, oh my gosh, what a wonderful treasure trove of mementoes and memories. I have several things like this but they’re all over the place. Your end had me laughing out loud because of “and I will give him/whatever he wants.” What a priceless last line! Beautiful!
Denise,
There are definitely days when I wonder if we were separated at birth . . . we have many similarities!
I had considered doing parentheticals to give the story behind them, but I opted to force my mind to remember down the road!
What a treasure this will be for your grandson! Riches for sure!
Susie, this morning I woke up thinking that I would clean out a few shelves. What a perfect prompt for today. However I ran into a glitch and didn’t get much cleaning done. The memories overwhelmed me.
The Cupboard
I opened the cupboard door
reached deep inside for a box
of vintage dolls
and I remembered a lady returning from Hong Kong
giving me a Chinese doll in native costume
when I was 10.
I found two more dolls
“He and She” in Swiss costumes
and I remembered you had brought them to me
as a gift from Germany
when I was 18.
A forgotten shoebox
was also there
with two scarves,
one of Mexico and another of Paris
and I remembered you had been in Paris
and had taken me to Mexico
when I was 20.
Then I found lots of bed sheets in a pile.
I stacked them by size
and I remembered there was a time
that I had a house full of family
when I was 30.
Under the scarves were a bundle of letters
written to me sixty years before
from you time in the Army
before we were married
and I remembered how much we loved each other
and how much I miss you now
when I am 70.
Susan, I instantly went back in time on this stanza because when my dad was serving in Vietnam, he brought back dolls for me and my sister!
This tugged my heart right out!
Sending warm thoughts and hugs your way, Susan.🤗
Susan,
My heart has all the feels every time I read “I remembered”.
In this line
one of Mexico and another of Paris
and I remembered you had been in Paris
That intimacy of “you” and then that next line “had taken me”. The chronology of this, too, is lovely as the life-time. The lived life shared that is remembered and witnessed anew in this poem. Thank you for taking us on the journey.
Sarah
Oh, Susan, my eyes are filled with tears as I read this. When you got to age 18 and began talking in second person to the love of your life, I knew why you wouldn’t be able to clean. This poem is perfect. Peace to you today.
Susan, this poem is hauntingly beautiful. Each repetition of an age matched to a memory of a place and people tugged at my heart. The line, “I remembered how much we loved each other nearly broke me” with its simple, exquisite beauty. I guess the poem can be read as a poem of loss— but it also a poem of a life brimming with love and kindness. I feel honored to share in your sweet memories! Thank you! I wish you peace!
Susan,
You sure yanked on my heartstrings with this. I love the entire poem and nodded my head at points as I could relate to certain happenings, but that last stanza just left me feeling so much compassion for you:
Susan, this was so sweet and beautiful!
Susie, my friend, what a special time you’ve given to me as I journeyed back in time. I love your poem and the sweet gentle reminders of all that you are, a gem, I am grateful to know.
I Will Never Forget
Is it time to get rid of my metal filing cabinet
Oh, wait, I have three
What does this say about me?
I found a yellow folder
“5th Grade Fitness Test”
I remember exactly whose scores outdid the rest.
I found a red folder
“Fun Writing Frames”
I remember we wrote first-day stories about our names.
I found a flowered folder
“Activities for Art Class”
I remember we painted nature while sitting on the grass.
I found a tattered folder
“We Wear the Mask”
I remember studying Dunbar and questions kids would ask.
I found a green folder
“2021 Welcome Back”
I remember how much teachers had to cut some slack.
I found a laminated folder
“June’s Culmination Speech”
I remember writing something special for every child I teach.
I found a thick folder
“Students/School Photos File”
I will never forget the children’s faces who always made me smile.
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 4/24/23
Stacey,
All the folders and the intentions we teachers have of organizing and sorting for all the reasons. Love the structure of this poem in its parallelism with “I found” echoed by “I remember in present tense. That contrast of past to present of the literal holding and the abstract holding of memory. Love this!
Sarah
Your file cabinet holds many treasured memories about your life and progression to becoming a teacher. I think some of these files hold personal writings and then become assignments given to those children you adore.
Stacey,
Yep, cleaning out the filing cabinets is an end-of-career necessity. I vowed not to leave drawers full of lesson plans no one would use, and so I had five cabinets to clean out. I started a couple years before retirement and left nothing in those cabinets when I left the room for the last time. Anyway, the repetition of “I found” is wonderful, and I’m all for the italics that give name and prominence to the various activities. I love Dunbar’s “We Wear the Mask.” Your files are an invitation to learn and love the things you love to teach.
Ahhh, Stacey, I had to laugh and smile reading your poem. File cabinets can certainly hold a lot of treasures. Your list shows so much about you and a teacher’s life. Your end is the best! Love it!
There are just some things that need to remain tangible, so don’t fret about still having three filing cabinets. Clearly, the things you have kept provide insight into what a dynamite teacher you are . . . to how much you treat them as special individuals.
Stacey,
This poem really captures the time capsules that teachers hold in their filing cabinets. And the detail of “I have three” says that you’ve touched a countless amount of lives—students that you’ve cared about and professional practices that warrant memorialization. I love this poem!
Thanks Susie, for the amazing inspiration and mentor text.
Found Treasures
I found, in an enormous stack of photo albums, my Senior Year album from High School.
Looking through it, memories raced into my mind like bulls running through Pamplona
I remembered my first love, the consistent crisp cold air of a high school minutes from the beach, Drill Team practices, a major menstrual cycle mishap, and running along the seashore on the Cross Country team.
I found a teacher tub in the garage, that’s been in there at least 8 years. There were 3rd and 4th grade lessons, along with too many Kindergarten writing practices. I’ve had 5th grade for years, plan to retire soon, and keep the same grade level.
I remembered the neediness, authenticity, and pure delight of 5 year old children, blowing noses, tying shoes, being repeatedly patted on the hips and hearing, “Teacher, he hit me, laughed at me, got in front of me…” I hope my own daughters have children so I can be a Kindergarten teacher at home.
I found in my China cabinet crystal glasses, flutes, goblets, footed tumblers, highballs, Brandy snifters, and ice cream sundae glasses from my never-met Grandmother.
I remembered that I LOVE dinner parties but dislike the clean up/set up. My mother was the Queen of entertaining and I was her sous chef, table setter, food taster and menu consultant. I remember her telling us as newlyweds, “Don’t save your dishes, wear your clothes, use your stuff, if something happens to you, another woman will come in here and use ALL of your pretty items…Don’t save things for a rainy day…” So I have to put aside the paper cups and plates, and use my glorious stemware at least 70% of the time. Especially since I don’t have a cat or small grandchildren, yet.
AHHH, Seana — I loved your mama’s advice. That is exactly how I feel about “fancy” dishes, etc. USE ‘EM! I smiled over and over at the teacher stuff that you saved and the memories that it brought of those little squirts…especially whining that so-n-so “hit me, laughed at me…” It is true that stepping back in time through a bin of “treasures” sends a rush through you and the time suddenly evaporates and you find yourself having been standing the garage or sitting in the basement for three hours when you meant to merely take a peek. Ha! Loved that bit of life you’ve shared here! Susie
Seana,
I wish I had kept more of my mother’s and grandmother’s things. You have a treasure. I love your mom’s advice and Lord knows it’s true. As soon as we are gone, we are replaced. LOL. But honestly, I think it’s sweet to go down memory lane with you. I can see Pali’s view of the ocean and distinctly recall those cross country runners jogging down Temescal! Wow, thanks for the fun memories.
💓
Seana,
You sparked a memory of white slacks and a horrifying moment with “a major menstrual cycle mishap.” Is this a rite of passage for women? I love the advice your mom gave you about using the fancy dishes, wearing your best clothes. Wise woman. We don’t know what will happen to us or our things.
Susie,
This was such a cool “write-yourself” poem prompt. And Holy Nostalgia, Batman!!! Your poem really resonated with me, too. The memories of cooking and music and poetry that live in our drawers and closets…
The junk drawer
seems like the
purgatory of
memories and
mementos
Possibly still
of use
but not
useful enough
to remain in view.
A drumkey
to tune toms to
the “just right”
brightness
and attack
for a gig that
hasn’t happened
within a time frame
that I could recall
A notebook
with the
aspirational front
cover–“Dope Rhymes”
remains full of blank
pages
The front piece
for my DJ case
spinning tunes
at a party
before the
hallways fell
silent
The yellowing newspage
profiling a young
pedagogue, sharing
the stage as a panelist
at a community celebration
peddling hip hop’s
political roots
and a baseball
left over from
little league coaching
yearning to be gripped,
years removed from
our last catch, but
within arm’s reach
for tomorrow’s maybe.
Dave,
I am holding onto the phrase “for tomorrow’s maybe” and also this
A notebook
with the
aspirational front
cover–“Dope Rhymes”
remains full of blank
pages
I am wondering if there is still time to fill those pages or if it is best to keep them blank as hope for tomorrow. That page is always waiting.
And I am so grateful to learn more about you “peddling” and “coaching”!
Peace,
Sarah
Dave,
My gut says you’ll fill those pages because the aspiration will always be there! You’re an inspiration to me! Keep writing!
Love the ending too! “Tomorrow’s maybe” ♥️
Dave,
This just resonates with nostalgia. And it offers a glimpse into who you are. I love the last stanza about the baseball, but I love the ending of
Dave, love these portraits of you. Beautiful last stanza. ❤️
I don’t like to open this junk drawer
that holds his mother’s recipes
and a dozen sports-themed koozies,
which is a word I’ve never written
until now, and thus had to look up.
Did you know it’s Australian —
a foam sleeve for insulating beverages?
I think I hate those things.
There is an old cigar box with more
recipes, the box an attempt at organizing
this massive drawer. Oh, and then a utensil
caddy with spare keys to our cars and one
to get into my sister’s place just
a hundred yards away, but also clips.
Clips for chip bags and every other
thing we opened once that a nice tuck
and roll close just won’t do for him, so
my old school paper-sorting clips wait
in this junk draw to hold frozen veggies
“grade this” while the brown sugar bag
has been kept fresh by “pass back”
for two years.
I think that I could dump this drawer today and
not miss a thing — okay, maybe the spare key,
but then what? With what would I fill it up?
Nothing. I am sweating at the thought
of accumulating. (Inhale.) This is his.
I remember maybe I gave him this drawer
(and a massive garage bin, too) for the things
he holds onto just in case
just because they once mattered to him
and because maybe some day he will
make Lou’s peach dumplings or taco pie
though he hasn’t twenty-five years.
(Exhale.) Closing the drawer, I know
is not junk to him, and so it can’t be
for me either. Maybe I will ask for
those dumplings, but I will never
ask for a koozie.
Sarah, I like the approach you took with this…going through another’s drawer…and making sense of the collection,
of accumulating. (Inhale.) This is his.
It’s fascinating, actually. The way we collect, store, scrounge, hide, and keep. It makes me want to go through the junk my parents hoard….to capture the stories while they still have breath. Beautiful.
Sarah — I’m laughing at the thought of making sense out of another person’s junk drawer. So many questions come to mind…what? what? what on earth? why? why? AHAHAHA! Those koozies really are goofy…someone gave me one as part of the march from their band, and I have it shoved in
myone of my junk drawers, and I mumble WHY? The voice and tone come across so loud and clear…”just in case they once mattered” and “just won’t do for him” and “I will never…” I wonder if he wrote this poem, what would that poem look like! Ha! Love it. SusieSarah, I agree with Bryan that this was a brilliant approach to the prompt. My sister is a collector and I am a tosser. I imagined going through her junk drawers and having the exact same issues you had. LOL. I am in total love with these lines because the teacher “junk” always ends up in other people’s stuff.
Great time with you in this drawer and I’m inhaling, get rid of it all! 😆😂
Sarah, oh my goodness, I love your voice in this poem. I am totally laughing about the koozies. We have so many of them here. Now people are making and giving them out at weddings. Your specific details completely drew me into your poem Hilarious end!
How fascinating, Sarah, to look at someone else’s junk drawer and try to make sense of why certain things are still around. I love the realization that the stuff is his and that it’s not yours to dispose of. And I love, love, love the humorous, light-hearted way you end this reference to a recipe and the blasted koozie (which made it’s way into my poem, too, even though I never ever use the term). Ending that way is such a sweet nod to him and the things that matter to him and vicariously maybe to you now,
Sarah, I love this poem. The breathing in and out as you remember maybe you gave him the drawer…and then “closing the drawer.” Starting and ending with “koozie” is fun! And the peach dumplings do sound like they would be worth asking for.
Come tennis shoe
come pointe shoe
come frisbee and
fairy wings
come pillow and
bodyboard
come paddle
and garbage can
come coffin and
mirror and clock
and clock and
clock, all laden
down with poetry
come and rest
here, in this
classroom, in
this celebration
of the physical
embodiment of
Poetry, come
running baton
come toothbrush
come flamingo
and baseball cap
every spring, I ask
my students to
bring to class
a poem
on something
other than paper,
and these,
these are their
leavings, their
castoffs, but
for each new
fall and each
new student,
a discovery
waiting to
happen
___________________________________________________
Susie, I love this prompt! Thank you! (Your poem was wonderful, by the way. I love your fourth stanza especially: “I found …. reminders of great ideas / for poems yet to come, / I remembered I was a poet.” You were and absolutely ARE a poet.) Now, in terms of your prompt, I started thinking about the various educational detritus in my classroom. This year, we’re tasked with boxing up our classrooms (more so than usual) because we’re getting new carpeting, so I’m trying to “unclutter my life” a bit and Marie Kondo some of this “stuff” that has been accumulating for the last 28 years….but so many of these things still bring me joy…yes, I have a problem…I know. Lol. 🙂
Oh, Scott, what a fabulous idea. I love the call to all the castoffs to “Come”, and what a sweet ending. They come to delight the next class and inspire them to know they are poets too. Beautiful! And the photo adds so much.
Scott! I love your invitation to celebrate the physical embodiment of Poetry. Wow. Wish I had a teacher like you when I was in school. How wonderful that a castoff becomes a discovery…works with people too, I think. Thanks for my thought of the day!
,
AHAHA…I think of you as a pied piper of sorts, calling out to your “special” treasures to follow you out of the classroom… but off to storage so that you can reinstall the works when the carpet is laid and ready to showcase the rogue little rats come fall. You’ve given your students a wonderful and meaningful challenge to find just the right artifact to serve as a poetic rendering of their having been your student. Cool idea! Cool! Junky, but cool! Thanks for the kind words, BTW. 🙂
Susie
Scott!!! I love this activity for students to bring something in to be the poem! OMG, fun! I wasn’t sure what to expect in the beginning. I was picturing a garage! But, oh, what a surprise you gave us here! Brilliant! I can only imagine what your students think. I’d be in heaven!
🧡
Scott,
What a fantastic assignment!
a poem
on something
other than paper,
What a way to make tangible and able to hold the ideas and ways of being that defy or cannot be contained by hands. I love this being able to hold and pack poems to make possible new carpeting.
Sarah
Scott,
Look at you embracing the prompt and all that. Bravo! I love the assignment and the things you name that have been transformed from utilitarian items into poetry. Talk about shape-shifting. Love the repetition of “Come,” as though the muse is calling, as though the speaker personifies or anthropomorphizes the objects. Thanks, too for the still-life photo poem.
Scott, I spy the mask! I used to invite students to do something similar and once we covered a chair in poetry. I don’t know what happened to it, but your poem inspired that memory, and I love the way you call to all these student-created poems. Lovely!
Great prompt for one who has many junk drawers. They are like treasure chests. I clean them out and then start collecting again! Thank you!
Junk Drawer
Old rusted key
To something I’ve
Forgotten how to open,
I’ve forgotten,
I cannot remember.
It is locked in my memory
And I know it was terrible,
I can feel it
And I want to run,
I want to
Hide my eyes,
I want to forget.
I collect things:
Keys, bottle tops, bits
Of paper, broken pens,
Little boxes of
Assorted sizes,
Buttons, marbles,
Anything small
I can store away,
Safe and protected,
Safe and unnoticed,
Safe and forgotten
Until I open the drawer
And see those things
With new eyes.
Those old things
I carry,
Those forgotten
And rusted things
Useless to everyone,
But me.
Joanne — There’s almost a haunting tone in the “forgotten” things. Until I get to the “open the drawer/And see…new eyes.” That sense of opportunity is so satisfying. Like finding yourself hiding there. I was taken by the run of emotions down the slide of the poem. Thank you for letting us in on the ride. Susie
Joanne, what a sweet and sad take on the prompt today. I’m thinking of it metaphorically for all the valuables I’ve forgotten about or put away to protect myself over my lifetime. I do like the hope of seeing with “new eyes” and “But me” at the end.
What a beautiful poem, Joann. I loved the lines “I want to forget/to collect things…but then again of course not… this need to protect, to notice… to keep…I too collect the rusted and forgotten useless to everyone/but me. Beautiful.
Joanne, your poems always pull me right in!
I had chills here:
I imagine the emotions connected to little things that trigger bad memories. Wow. So good, Joanne.
Joanne, your closing lines resonate with me, “Useless to everyone/But me.”
I think of that when we “cleared out” the homes of relatives you have passed on without passing on some of their “stuff” because it means little to anyone else.
I wonder what will be done with the “stuff” I’ve hoarded, too. If I were to pass them on now would they be valued without the memories attached to them? Oh my!
Joanne,
I love these lines:
Always ” winging from limb to limb/in the free breezes/of art…what a lovely poem and those last lines were my favorite! You are a true renaissance artist! Thanks for the great prompt…
Only last week
I organized the junk drawer,
but already each lodger
has defied my labels
and slipped into a tangle
of their own choosing.
I can’t blame them—
everyday an earthquake,
every pull and slant of light
a mad shuffle.
Perhaps they think
it’s a hiding game.
I thought for sure I put them back,
I say aloud, and buried beneath
an unmarked envelope and Pokeman card,
scissors laugh.
I wonder what the rest of the work crew
think of me—
the tape and the glue stick,
the rubber cement and binder clips,
the rubber bands, ribbons and twine;
She must be falling apart.
or the the assortment of erasers—
the pink and blue rectangles
and colorful pencil toppers—
She must make a lot of mistakes.
I hope the bookmark and pencils
defend me,
if not the homemade card
misplaced in the junk drawer will.
I love you sooooo much, it says.
Ann, I’m so glad for this line,
as I’m sure there isn’t a drawer in the universe that doesn’t have such stand-up comedy. I imagine the stapler heckles, too. From this point on, my scissors are going to have me in hysterics. They’re so useful, but hidden away with all our scraps. Love it.
This is wonderful, Ann. I do love a talking junk drawer! My favorite lines:
“I hope the bookmark and pencil/ defend me/ if not the homemade card…will.
You made me smile all the way through! Thank you!
Ann — The voices…love that these precious “lodgers” have something to say. The erasers…so many erasers…AHAHAHA…give us that funny line “She must make a lot of mistakes.” From the start I had to laugh at the very notion of “organizing” the junk drawer…futility at play! Who’d have thought we’d get emotional about our “junk,” but there’s a strong sense of belonging going on here (“defend me”). I’m in the middle of reading The Book of Form and Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki, and the kid in the book hears voices of seemingly inanimate objects… a scissors, to be specific…and I couldn’t help but chuckle at how things “speak” to us. Fun poem! Susie
Ann, I love the personification of the “lodgers” in your drawer. Priceless. And I love the heroes you count on at the end to defend you: the bookmark, pencils and homemade card.
Such beauty in your words here:
Susie, I’ll trade you one root canal and a crown for the pics and music sheets. This is such a delicious prompt because even the most insane minimalist must be excessive somewhere in their home. I photographed the two junk drawers I keep and used the items to find this poem. Lucky for me, I still have my Odin necklace from the days of teaching in Denmark (I wondered where I put that).
Your Drawers are Showing
~b.r. crandall
We can blame it on Odin
and his ravens,
Huginn & Muninn,
wild thoughts & vivid memories,
flapping global glitter
from well-travelled wings…
one eye closed
& squinted
over the shiny shit
he might one day
need.
Loki, that trickster
cursed me to collect the chaos…
-never enough
lead for mechanical pencils
(the statistics are on my side).
-a dorm full of hacky sacks
to kick around days when I was young
(and able to lose hours without regret)
-those envelopes meant
for sending letters –
(it explains all the pens).
-if Apple stopped finding
new ways to charge devices
I wouldn’t store all the chords.
-pipes, bags, bud, & tubes
confiscated from the twins
(but saved for Leo & friends).
Loki never lets me drink the ale,
unless there’s enough for both of us
We can blame it on Odin,
lord of the frenzy
leader of the possessed,
the butterfly clips in his beard.
He hoards the universe
so one day he can
throw it to the wolves,
Geri & Freki
from his throne
just to lett us know
warriors are
pack rats,
too.
Love the Odin references. You made me think of Jeremy in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH and my beloved Templeton in Charlotte’s Web. All of tiny things repurposed for something useful. I love how you paint Odin – lord of the frenzy, leader of the possessed, the butterfly clips in his beard…
BR – straightaway from the title, I was ready to chuckle my way through your drawers…well, maybe I should rephrase that. LOL! Odin seems like the right fit…that demonic genius “hoard[ing] the universe/so one day he can/throw it to the wolves. I totally enjoyed buzzing back to Norse mythology. I laughed aloud at all the “Apple devices,” as right here at my left hand is my drawer full of cords and oddball adaptors…those fiends that engineer for obsolescence and greed (grrr). And ate up the alliterative image, “flapping global glitter.” Cool poem! Susie
Susie, thank you for hosting today and how lovely you share all the modes of your art world with us today.
I found an unlabeled ziploc
of your baby hair
I remember when you cut it
and how it’s thickened since
then, along with your view of
the world
I found one of your first teeth
remnants of blood attached
I remember how your speech
wasn’t clear, mouth muscles still forming
before your adult teeth increased
your language and tone
I found some nail clippings left in the sink
pretty sure that was a booger on the wall
a used band-aid on the sole of my foot
pee stains on the bathroom floor
I found crumbs in the crevices of my car
when will these findings be a memory?
Stefani,
If only a line like this,
could be sold to feed our families. I’m now wondering what poetry such crumbs might write. After all, they are pieces of something larger. There’s so much story here.
Stefani – I can see every child artifact so clearly. And your wistful last line is so perfect. Childhood is so fast and fleeting and wild and precious. You show all of that. Thank you!
Stefani — I smiled at the very intention, the premeditated act of Ziploc[ing] the baby hair. That took us right to the tone of reverie and thinking about those teeth and growth. And the sink scene (“booger on the wall” … omg and “pee stains…floor” and the car crumbs… we do leave telltale evidence, don’t we!? This was fun! Susie
I love all the details in this poem that make it so authentic and real. The stages of growth of what must be a boy child? I should write a poem about the condition my youngest child left her room when she left for college. I think about it every time I walk into her immaculate adult home.
Stefani, what a realistic ode to parenthood-! The first and second stanza, so poignant (oh, my heart). Thank heaven for that last one (sigh!) as a dose of reality-salve for the other memory-piercings. Just wonderful – booger and all.
Stefani,
What a gift this poem will be when these things are indeed a memory.
Susie, a friend once told me I must be an artist because I would go from one thing to the next to try them on, from painting to playing the ukulele. I love how you structured this poem as if its a letter to yourself with the admonition to remember you are an artist. I keep writing about my father.
In the junk drawer
among the Scotch tape,
sticky notes, scissors,
and glue, I find
a long ago picture of you:
Baby Stella on your lap.
You look down on her
while she looks up to you,
eye to eye, 88 to 8 months.
I treasure this photo, one of the lasts,
for holding a memory
while you hold your greatest grand child.
Your oldest daughter, me, snapping
and savoring the moment
of recognition,
of legacy,
of love.
Margaret, what a beautiful generational tribute, you should add the pic:) Thank you for sharing today.
I tried twice and it wouldn’t load. Too big a file, perhaps?
Margaret, the idea of holding here, what a photo does, what your father was doing, what you’re doing as photographer, mimics what the poem is: a holding space for ideas, words, inspiration. Such a beautiful way to illustrate all of this.
Margaret, that’s not junk. It’s gold!
Beautiful. Your father is looking down from heaven smiling and giving you a hug.
Margaret — You’ve frozen a moment in time, and it holds so much love. That is always amazing to me, how a short little poem can unleash so many profound emotions. “Treasure” indeed. Your poem puts us on pause to take in the love. Thank you. Susie
Margaret, this moment, frozen in time, is forever real and lives on. I love the use of the word legacy in the poem – – the span of generations, of time joining hands and relaying the baton of life and love throughout history, is touching and so precious. I think what I love most in pictures like these is the skin of the oldest and youngest – – to see the wrinkles and the life well-lived is sad but oh, so happy – – because IT HAPPENED! And to see the promise of baby skin, and the generations in the dash in between the range of years, is more than a photograph. It’s a circle of life, but not really – – it’s a spiral, a corkscrew because it goes on and on and on and on like all the love. The genes. The DNA. Perfect!
I know how much this photo means, “one of the lasts.” 88 to 8 months is a priceless snapshot of legacy. One of my favorite “lasts” of my grandfather is a photograph of him holding my youngest as a month-old baby and my oldest (proud big brother) perched on the arm of Granddaddy’s recliner. I am also recalling a verse from Genesis: “Joseph saw Ephraim’s children to the third generation. The children of Machir, the son of Manasseh, were also brought up on Joseph’s knees” – the blessing of longevity as well as a blessing of legacy. These are the images this poem evokes for me. I can just see, you, too, the happy picture taker, finding this photo again in the drawer, pausing, picking it up reverently…I can just feel it, deeply. So beautiful, Margaret.
Beautiful memory and poem, Margaret. Your precise details share the photograph well. I love how you end with those final three important lines. Gorgeous poem!
Margaret,
How cool to come across a photo you apparently hadn’t seen in a while. Sometimes when it’s been a while since we have seen an image, the impact of seeing it packs a powerful punch. I’m guessing it’s going to find a place for it that’s not among the tape and such.
Margaret, what a sweet moment you get to enjoy when you look in the junk drawer, a moment “of recognition, / of legacy, / of love.” I especially like” “you look down on her / while she looks up to you” Such a moment that becomes visual with those words.
Margaret, this is lovely! I’m drawn to the start of your second stanza and that pause and realization that this photo was “one of the last” and the switch from “holding” a memory to “hold[ing] your greatest grand child.” So good!
Susie, I love this prompt and the whimsy it invites! I enjoyed wandering through your junk drawer with you and learning/feeling the significance of every item. I especially love “my cobwebby hideaways”… I think this and the idea of forensics led to the framing of this rendering in one of my favorite forms, the acrostic.
A Writer Revisits Her Skeletons
(Which Are Not in the Closet…)
Just scraps of paper, resting
Upon one another
Notes scribbled
Kibbled…
Dereliction of duty, perhaps
Recording idea-snippets
Amassing scraps
Without fleshing
Ephemeral bones, ethereal embryos into
Reality
The acrostic works so beautifully here for connecting the disconnected items with a common word. I like the way you did this – ah, the life of a writer in so many ideas on notepaper!
Fran, I was laughing at your title and love the acrostic use of this plus the rhythm. Thank you for sharing today.
Fran, I like the form you e chosen today. It works beautifully as a list. “Ephemeral bones, ethereal embryos” is beautiful language and imagery. And your wordplay in rhyme (scribbled and kibbled) as an amassing of idea snippets captures our intent, sometimes coming to fruition and sometimes waiting like seeds in the dark to germinate at a later time.
Hi Fran! I love the sound of this poem:
Scribbled…Kibbled
Recording idea-snippets
Amassing scraps
Ethereal embryos
Just luscious! Thank you!
Fran — You found such rich words to give importance to “Just scraps.” Our someday poems start somewhere and your “bones” are there waiting for the right moment. I love the “kibbled” image…so fitting… I have to steal that word. And without the “scraps” you would not have today’s poem! Well done. Susie
I love the use of kibbled that rhymes with scribbled. I have a homemade notebook I bought to place scrap poems in. I’d forgotten about it. I need to dig up those ephemeral bones.
Fran, what a clever format for your poem today, but your words are amazing. Loved “Ephemeral bones, ethereal embryos into/Reality”. Your title is superb, too! Amazing poem!
Love the acrostic, Fran. Especially,
I do this, too! And, I re-read them and squirrel them into another corner, and rarely only rarely do I toss these away. What is this about? Love that I’m not alone at this!
Susie, I love that you embrace all prompts with a zest that draws us to you (oodles for doodles could only come from you!). Your “drawer” is a treasure trove of glimpses (we have seen your guitar, we know those idea snippets). Thank you for sharing this fun, exploratory prompt today. While we have what we call a junk drawer, it’s really just for consistently used objects that don’t have another place to be (post-its, paperclips, grocery lists, tape). I’m not sure how I landed here but here we are.
there’s a drawer in the house
of lost things:
a to-do list, the soup we ate for dinner last night,
the movie with that actress, you know…
(the one we watched this weekend),
how to make it back home,
a phone number, what this key is for,
that time we went to Grand Haven,
your name,
there’s a drawer in the house
of half-remembered bits,
mismatched pieces of the past
that were gathered some time ago,
i keep them with me
i meant to do something with them
but i have forgotten what
Jennifer, this could be my own story! Mismatched pieces of the past, something I was going to do with them, but I have forgotten what. That is the truth! I also appreciate your definition in the intro of what a junk drawer really is.
Such a clever take on the prompt. I love the drawer of half-remembered bits and how you land on “I have forgotten what.” We all have those things. What was my plan for this or that? Why do I have a cocoa bean in my purse? Ooh, that would be fun to unpack a purse…
Jennifer, these half-remembered bits – what a true choice of the words to describe how so much is becoming – only half remembered! The artifacts means things happened and life was lived! At least that’s true of all my bits.
Jennifer, you sum up the essence of a junk drawer so well…why did we keep that? I make a personal connection to Grand Haven and look forward to warmer days this year and visiting. Thank you for sharing.
Yes, yes, yes! Love the lines:
half-remembered bits,
mismatched pieces of the past
Thank you!
Jennifer — You captured the reality of the drawer with “half-remembered” and “mismatched” soooo well. The voice…”the actress, you know” sounded like me muttering “who was that guy?” And the last two lines speak the truth we all know too well. LOL! The drawer, like the absence of capital letters, has a formlessness about it…very artfully crafted! I got another particular grin from how present this drawer is in your busy life (just “this weekend”)…junk drawers can be old archival storage bins of life, but I really love that junk drawers are constantly shifting with new additions and frantic, but fruitless, culling. Fun poem indeed! Susie
Susie, the artist and writer and musician and the unique you rings ever true in your poem today – I love the discovery and the realization moments! Thank you for hosting us today with a prompt that speaks to my restorative spirit – from one man’s junk to another man’s treasure. Even in dogs.
These Three Kings
I found three castoffs
betrayed, neglected, abused
I crowned these three kings
simple but gives me an image of special items/
Kim, your three kings are crowned with love – yours for them and theirs for you. Rescues are the best dogs…begging the question of whom is really being rescued. 🙂
P.S. You are the (haiku) queen of their three king-sized hearts; I have no doubt.
That metaphor is telling. I’d love to know what makes it to the status of king in your heart.
Kim, I love the crowning of your rescues. They are so blessed to have found a home with you. Hard to believe anyone would discard an animal to the “junk drawer.”
Yes, Kim — “castoffs…crowned…kings”… that’s darned beautiful! Even in dogs…especially our beloved critters! You really are an Earth Mother. Hugs, Susie
Oh, it took me a minute to understand your poem because I hadn’t read your comment, but after I did, I realized your poem is a perfect tribute to your loveable dogs and your generous animal-loving heart. Your last line is wonderful! Love it all!
A treasure of a haiku! Those sweet and lucky dogs, and lucky you. Three kings!
Kim,
My heart is in your poem. I’ve always preferred the castoff fur babies. I’ve always loved the “betrayed, neglected, abused” pets best. You are my rescue kindred spirit, Even our little Stanley us a rescue of sorts. They wanted to rehome him. He didn’t fit in. He was too attached. We’ll, Stanley and Snug became fast friends. Even Hero loves the little guy, and I’m happy to have a cuddle doggy. And getting all this love was free.
Hi Susie, what a great prompt! I love how the repetition in your poem works. It reminds us all the old selves we used to be. Yesterday, I was cleaning out a file cabinet. It felt like a bit of archeology seeing names and papers I hadn’t bothered to look at in years. Why do I keep so much stuff? Ugh! How fortunate that experience was at the ready for today.
Spring Cleaning
I found a note from Dad
in his loopy messy hand
It was a correction, I might add
I found a note from Dad
Somehow, I had made him mad
He re-explained as if I didn’t understand
I found a note from Dad
in his loopy messy hand
Linda Mitchell 4/24
A perfect triolet, Linda – with a powerful punch. The handwriting so takes a person back…
Oh, you are practicing and mastering this form. The power of revisiting the “note from Dad” is drawing me in on this day when all I can think about is him. I’ve saved a tin (I always sent them a tin of pecans for Christmas) on notes from my Dad. I
can’thaven’t read them yet. Maybe soon.Linda, such a specific note in a distinctive handwriting, but yet so universal in the notes we find, bringing moments and memories rushing back. That loopy messy hand makes me wonder if the word loopy and the idea that you didn’t understand suggest his forgetfulness and perhaps aging process. Which is where so many of us are with parents.
Linda, the detail of his loopy messy hand is a wonderful detail – so much revealed in just three words. And a memory is encapsulated within.
Wow! Love this! I have found that note too – from my dad – in a loopy messy hand.
Perfect poem! Thank you!
Linda — I love that your “loopy[ed] your poem with the repetitions right along with the “messy hand”… so inventive. We are lucky that you were tackling that file cabinet! We have a sweet conversation between you and your dad. Quite touching actually, the whole idea that your dad sat down and wrote you a note and you cared enough to save it, a record of how two people navigate family. Thanks for the “stuff.” 🙂 Susie
Discovered inside
a kitchen drawer:
wire ties
to abandoned bags;
broken cords
to lost devices;
a voice recorder
emptied of sound;
a plastic fork
with no knife;
a ticket stub
we never won;
a sticky note
written for someone;
batteries and bulbs
and half-written
poems and all the other
detritus of a life
lived together
Kevin
Your last two lines tie up that random list into a nice list poem.
Kevin, I love the use of the word detritus. The randomness of things reminds me of the flotsam and jetsam in the ocean, just sort of there, collections of this and that. I am far too fearful of opening my own junk drawer, which I have once or twice tried to organize with no success.
“A life lived together” is such a sweet ending to the collection of discarded, saved things. I like how you structured this poem with the thing, then its purpose.
Kevin, your poem reminds me that most of life is detritus. A gathering of bits and pieces, things we want to hold onto, can’t bear to discard. It becomes this compilation left behind for others to sift through.
Kevin,
Perhaps if planted in an herb garden, such a ticket will bring you millions. That is my hope. That is why I keep them.
Kevin – I love the list of the things we carry – all the other detritus of a life lived together.
Thank you!
Kevin — Your litany of those “too good, matters too much to pitch” items are very similar to my own. And in the kitchen! I like especially how the randomness of the list conveys that randomness of the kitchen drawer being the repository. I too have batteries in odd spots, and everywhere “half-written/poems”… all part of us. One that particularly resonated with me: “broken cords/to lost devices”…that in itself could be a dandy metaphor. Thank you for this gander into your kitchen drawer. Susie
I love how you follow the item with a related detail, often pointing back to its uselessness.