Month: March 2022

Preparing for National Poetry Month

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Now that I have finished “The Mirror” (which I really hope you all liked!) I am preparing to celebrate National Poetry Month.  Every week in April, I will post at least one poem that I have written and the story behind it. 

Last year I did a Facebook Live reading every week. The short version is that it didn’t go over so great, so I’m going to try this instead.

I warn you, though, I am not a poet!  Here is a poem I wrote in 2004 for an art project (of all things) that sums up how well poetry and I go together:

“I Am Not A Poet”

I am not a poet
I don’t pretend to know it
I stretch and force words to work
(Aren’t I such a jerk?)

My poems have no meaning,
My poems have no rhyme,
My head is simply teeming,
‘Cause I’m running out of time.

Do you see what I’m saying?
Don’t come at me braying.
I warned you once:
I am not a dunce.

I am not a poet.

(See what I mean?)

I am going way out of my comfort zone here.  I write Christian travel romance, Christian living, and children’s stories.  Poetry is way out in left field for me.  I hope that by me sharing what I’m not as great at, though, it will encourage you to flex your muscles and try something new.

Trying new things can be hard and scary.  We might fear rejection or failure.  But we never know what’s going to happen until we try.  For anyone who ever watched Scholastic Production’s “The Magic School Bus” growing up, you may be familiar with Ms. Fizzle’s famous saying: “Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!”

I think my poetry’s gotten better as I’ve practiced (so hopefully that will be the most painful poem you read from me) but please know that I will make mistakes. Many of my poems will be messy. Some of the poems may be fairly dark, because I tend to only write poetry when I’m struggling with depression.

But I’m going to share these new, scary (imperfect and messy) things with you. Climb out on a limb with me here. Let’s see what happens! 

And while we’re at it… what new thing are you going to try?

THE MIRROR: PART 8, CHAPTER 20 (2007 – PRESENT)

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I could barely see anymore.  I could hardly feel.  I had long since given up hope that anyone would come for me.  Hearing tires on the gravel outside did nothing to excite me.  There was no point.

Then, one day, an amazing thing happened.  I heard the tire on the gravel.  It stopped outside my door.  A flicker of hope ignited.  I tried not to get too excited, but then I heard something jingling on the door.  There was a click of the lock.  Then there was the blinding sun.  Oh how it hurt my silver and ignited the being inside me!

Since I don’t have pupils like a human, my eyes didn’t need to adjust to the sunlight, and I was able to watch as a stout woman walked through the narrow passages of belongings. 

I had no idea who she was.  She wasn’t part of the family that I knew.

She had curly red hair that hung halfway down her back.  Her eyes seemed observant.  She walked slowly, almost reverently, reaching out to gently touch a few items with just a brush of her fingertips.  She never picked anything up.

Then she whispered, “Oh, Aunt Betty.  What on earth did you leave me?”

She walked behind the stack of boxes on me so I couldn’t see her. 

Suddenly, the boxes on my table rose into the air and there she was!  She saw herself in me and sort of cocked her head to the side.  She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, then ran her hand over my table.  Her touch was gentle. 

She scooted some boxes away with her foot and opened one of my drawers.  She pulled out a book, which I quickly realized was Dear Elizabeth’s family Bible.  My silver quacked with joyful excitement. 

The woman flipped through the Bible, a small smile on her face.  She lingered on some pages longer than others.

“This will help in my genealogy work,” she said to herself.  Because, of course, she had no idea that I could understand her.

She set the Bible on me and peered deeper into the drawer.  This time, she pulled out Carrie’s journal.  She skimmed through parts, then I watched her eyes grow wide. 

“There was an affair in our family?” 

She lost herself for almost an hour, reading about Carrie’s relationships with Jacob and Abraham.  She read about the emotional turmoil Carrie had battled.

Finally, she put the journal down and pulled something out of her pocket.  She flipped it open and did something strange with her thumbs.  I had never seen anything like it before. 

“Okay,” she said, flipping the thing back closed with a pop and sliding it back into her pocket, “Ray will be here soon to pick you…  What else should we take?”

Who’s Ray? I wondered. 

I got my answer a little while later when a man pulled up in a pickup truck and stepped out.  I hadn’t thought to look at the woman’s hand, but I glanced at his.  Yep.  There was a wedding band.

“Hey, Lisa, I’m here.”

“Ray!  I’m in the back.”

Ray walked past me and gave Lisa – the woman with the red hair – a quick kiss on the cheek.  Lisa pointed to me and a few of the boxes she had gone through while waiting for him. 

He walked over to me and gave me a look over.  “Whew.  This will be a challenge.”

Ray wiggled me out of my spot and outside.  He paused to catch this breath, then called for Lisa. “Remember, do not lift it,” he said, giving her a look.

He hoisted up one end of me while Lisa supported the other end, then they traded places.  Ray carefully helped her into the bed of the truck before jumping down.  Then Lisa slid me back while Ray lifted my other end up.  Lisa worked on securing me to the truck while Ray went to get a few boxes.

They loaded up the rest of the boxes Lisa wanted, then Ray slammed the tailgate shut. 

“Are you sure you don’t want more time to go through the rest of the stuff in there before the yard sale?”

Lisa didn’t even glance at the storage shed as she said, “Nah.  I’m good.  I’m pretty sure this is the vanity my great-great-something grandfather made for my great-great-something grandmother, and I found a family Bible and a journal – which wow, just wait until I tell you what I found out! – and that’s all gold.”

“If you’re good, I’m good.  You want to put this vanity in the baby’s room when she comes?”

“YES!  Ray, you’re a genius!  It would be perfect.  Aunt Betty would have loved that.”

I heard their kiss, then Ray climbed into the truck and I heard Lisa walk to her car. 

I felt the truck rumble to a start and start to drive away to my new home. 

I was wanted.

I was loved.

I was more than a piece of furniture – I was a piece of a family legacy that would continue on.

THE MIRROR: PART 7, CHAPTER 19

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** QUICK ANNOUCEMENT! **
My first children’s story went live this weekend! If you know a child who loves to doodle (or if you love to doodle,) you just may love my new book, “Doodle with the Doodlebugs.” The Doodlebugs will give the reader a line, and the reader can doodle directly in the book to turn that line into something AMAZING. Then, the reader can turn the page and see what the Doodlebugs did with the same line.

If you are interested, you can check it out on Amazon here.

*** THANK YOU! Now, enjoy “The Mirror” ***

I never did see Larry, but I heard Betty tell George months later that they ended up having to take both of his legs.  Larry would be bound to a wheelchair. 

George passed away in 1982.  He had a heart attack in bed.  I watched as he took his last few, struggling breaths.  I stood helpless.  The worst was hearing Betty’s screams when she woke up and couldn’t get him to respond to her.

Betty decided to move.  I heard her muttering about the house being too empty.  I personally think she felt empty without George to argue with. 

Movers came to get her furniture.  Betty ran her hand over me right before they picked me up.  She quickly opened a drawer and shoved some books inside.  I didn’t understand the tears in her eyes.  No one had ever been emotional when moving me before.  They knew they’d see me again.  The movers carried me into a huge truck that fit all of Betty’s belongings and left me in the dark while they got more.

I couldn’t see the end of the truck by the time they finished loading it.  I didn’t know when they shut the back door.  I did feel when the truck rumbled to life and started to pull away from the house.  I was ready to see my new home.

I was not ready for the cramped storage shed the movers shoved me into. 

I was pushed against a side wall, my glass still reeling from the shock.  This wasn’t a house!  Where was I?  What was going on?  Surely there was a mistake!  I wanted to yell at the men to put me back, to take me back to Betty, but of course, I couldn’t. 

I watched as more and more of Betty’s possessions were piled around me.  Why was Betty’s bed being unloaded her?  Surely she’d need her bed!  Several boxes were stacked on me, partially blocking my view.

Then the movers shut the door and everything went dark.  There was a click of a lock.  Then all was silent.

After some time, a mouse snuck in.  He nibbled on my leg to sharpen his teeth.  It didn’t hurt in a physical sense, but I didn’t like it.  I had nothing against the mouse, but I was still bitter about being abandoned.  I had been part of the family for generations.  Why had Betty just deserted me?

Then I remembered her tears.

I slowly came to think that she hadn’t wanted to part with me.  Something had happened to force her to store me here.  I began to imagine all the horrible things she might be going through.  I began to hope that things would get better and I could be reunited with her again.

Years slipped by. 

I cannot feel time like I have learned humans do, but I had also learned how to keep impartial track of time.  I can feel a minute accurately since I am not biased by emotion.  I used that time remembering the families I had lived with.  The houses I had seen.  The emotions I had learned.

I thought once again of Jedediah.  The hands that had so carefully crafted me and given me love.  The man who had been so devoted to his wife.  Dear Elizabeth.  The woman who had been so beautiful, even though she had been homely in appearance.  The light and joy in her eyes, and the compassion that radiated out of her.

The path from their house to here had not always been a pleasant one.  There had been family fights and fights in the world.  There had been many tears and hateful words, but there had always been family.

Would I ever have that again?

Sometimes I would hear tires pass by outside, and I allowed myself hope that the movers were coming back to take me back to my family.  On a few rare occasions, I even heard footsteps.  But they always went to a storage unit next to mine.

Slowly, I began to lose hope.  I began to forget what love felt like.

I began to turn back into a normal piece of furniture. 

THE MIRROR: PART 6, CHAPTER 18 (1965 – 1973)

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George and Betty’s kids had grown up and moved out of the house, but I remained with them.  It was understood that their oldest, Linda, and her husband, Larry, would inherit me when they passed away.  Things seemed calm for a while.  Racial tension seemed to ease (at least, in our house.)  No bombs dropped from the Soviet Union.  Things seemed to be going well.

Then Betty received the letter from Linda.

Betty had been in their bedroom, pacing nervously for about thirty minutes, when George came home from work and found her.  She had chewed her fingernails down to the stubs.  Her hair was askew from her raking her fingers through it.

George walked in and froze.  “What on earth is the matter?”

Betty jumped at his voice, then ran to him.  “Oh, George!” she said throwing her arms around him, “I got a letter from Linda today.  Larry volunteered for the army.  Oh, Linda is so upset, and so am I!  Doesn’t he know that President Johnson is wanting us to join the war?”

This was the first I’d heard of a war.  Life hadn’t seemed too different from what I could see of my bedroom, so I tried to listen extra carefully to see what else I could learn.  Maybe bombs would be dropped on me after all.

George blinked a few times.  “Um.  Well now.  Larry is a smart boy, I’m sure he had his reasons.  Where is Linda’s letter?  I’d like to read it for myself.”

George skimmed over it once.  Then again.  “Well, it doesn’t give much information on why, but I’m sure he had a good reason.  Although,” he said, more under his breath, “I sure can’t think of what that reason would be.”

“Linda said he would be leaving on Wednesday – that’s tomorrow!  Oh, it’s too late to stop him.  Our letter would never reach him in time.”  Betty began to pace again.

“Woman, would you please slow down?  You’re wearing holes in the carpet!”

“I just can’t sit still!”

They ended up leaving the room and I just sat there, not having heard any more useful information about the war.  Where was the war?  How bad was it going to be?  Would Larry be okay?  So many questions, and no answers.

Betty sent updates as she could, but updates from the warzone – which I was finally able to find out was in Vietnam – were slow in getting to her.  Larry wrote when he could, but it wasn’t a simple matter of licking a stamp and finding a mailbox.

One day, George came home agitated.  Betty followed him into their room when he came to hang up his suit coat and put on his knit sweater.

 “A man from my office called me a warmonger today, when he found out I had a son-in-law in the military.  Can you believe it?  Like I personally advocated for the war.  Or for Larry to fight in it.”

“The nerve of some people!”

“And when it leaked through the office that Larry was over there, it was like I became the company target.  One man tripped near my desk and spilled his coffee all over my papers.  Another man knocked into me and made me spill all my papers.  Someone ate my lunch from the refrigerator.  All seeming accidents, but all in one day?”

 “That does seem like an unlikely coincidence,” Betty agreed, watching her husband stab his suit coat with his hanger and throw it on the closet rod. 

“I did not need this right now.”

Betty walked over to George and gave him a hug.

 One year went by, then two.  Betty got a strange device called a telephone, and I could hear it ringing down the hallway.  It was the most obnoxious sound. 

But one day I heard her answer and gasp.  “Is he okay?…  A helicopter got him out?…  Lost his leg?…  When will he be home?”

After she hung up, Betty came and collapsed on the bed. 

“Well,” she said to the ceiling, “losing one leg is better than losing your life.”