Happy Poetry Friday! Welcome, everyone! (Wondering what Poetry Friday is? Click here.)
Long time, no see! Life this spring/summer has been full of ups and downs, and I haven’t posted in a couple of months. And even this post is kind of a drive-by!
This month, the Poetry Sisters and I wrote pantoums inspired by Padraig O Tuama’s New Year prompt. (I have not written much individual poetry lately–I’ve either been very uninspired, or I’ve been working on rhyming picture books on deadline, which is lovely.) I’ll confess that when I saw we were writing pantoums, I thought, “Oh, crap.” And my first one was exactly that. I was so bored with myself and my insomnia poem. So I went to a different prompt with the same process and used that. The object I decided on was a dying (dead?) air plant I bought at the park where we scattered my mom and dad’s ashes last year. They were having a big plant sale, it turned out.
This is still an early draft–I thought about content, but not much about sound. But at least I didn’t bore myself too much.
Next month, we’re doing haiku sonnets–not sure I’ve tried those before! Hope you can join us!
Meanwhile, check out some more pantoums…
Sara
Kelly
Click here to see all our previous Poetry Princesses collaborations.
Our Poetry Friday host is the wonderful Tabatha! Check out the Roundup and see what she has to share.
Also, I’m in Massachusetts for a few days on a sister getaway! So I’ll make the rounds next week! Happy Poetry Friday <3
13 Responses
I found your poem very compelling, Laura. I especially like “a small wild sprawl,” the line that follows, and “she knew that nothing is that hard to kill.” (I have a house full of plants, but I have killed an air plant before!) xo
Glad I’m not the only one! Thanks, Tabatha :>)
I like your slight regrouping/changes in lines it draws you in and guides your focus from the man to your mom, thanks Laura!
As a woman who was given THREE air plants in cute magnetic fridge pots, and now all three of them are dead… 😆 Things that don’t require too much attention are often the first to slip away.
“Life is a gift, never a given” is just a two-by-four of truth to the forehead. Wow. I love how you used that, and that “small, wild sprawl” as highlights. Two things which were made to live, and two things that reached until they could no more. Nothing may be that hard to kill, but nothing reaches so hard for life as the living. A poignant confusion of memories that provoke my own.
Meanwhile, I’m snickering that both of us hated our first drafts badly enough to scrap and rewrite. It was that kind of a week. Happy writing, friend, good to see you again.
I love that you could weave together plant and parents’ lives in this form, Laura. It adds depth to both, gives them “new life.”
“Life is a gift, never a given” is such a wise line. Thank you for sharing, Laura!
Oh, the woe of the airplant. I’ve never been able to keep one alive. I do love how the pantoum form can juxtapose things like ashes with air plants so brilliantly.
It’s kinda crazy what comes to mind at times such as a scattering of ashes or a burial or learning of some tragedy…how fascinating that there was a plant sale right at the time that being in the air was a sacred ceremony. Life is funny like that. I like your pantoum. Don’t mess with it too much.
Hi, Linda–question for you. When I go to your Substack, I only see your OLW post, and nothing since. Is that right? (I don’t really do Substack, so I’m pry doing something wrong!)
Laura, it is so good to read your writing. “Life is a gift, never a given”is a beautiful line to address both the human and non-human aspect within your life. The last line ties your thoughts together with ease. My pantoum is still waiting for me. This weekend was all about family, love, and trying to fill my heart with memories.
This is poignant, Laura. The second stanza is perfection. As someone who also has a black thumb, I love how you’ve tackled this in the context of something so personal.
This hit me on a lot of levels, Laura — we have cremated both of my parents in the last 2–1/2 years, I’m a plant killer (and I killed a plant a few months ago, one that someone gave us when my father died) and it’s just, well, all so touching to me. The confusion of memories, life being a gift, never a given.
Thank you.
Oh, Laura. This poem is gorgeous. What a gut-punch “Life is a gift, never a given” is.