I have a poem up at
Literary Mama called
"After the Playground" that recreates a playground experience at the Hayt School in our old neighborhood in Chicago. I was just visiting old friends in Chicago this weekend and having that nostalgia of place. The very air reminded me of summers past.
Today, by chance, my sweet sixteen daughter is headed up to Chicago on the train, with her boyfriend, to meet her brother, and his friend who is a girl, and old friends from our old neighborhood, the one with Hayt School in it and also St. Gertrude's parish, where my kids started school. They plan to go to the beach, so I hope the weather holds. If not, the Lincoln Park Zoo. Or maybe the
Field Museum, to see the
Whales!
Their childhood is rolling back over me today, and their future is rolling out before me, a beautiful bluegrass carpet. Oh, my dears!
7 comments:
The poem speaks, so much we don't anticipate, or if we did, we would never start ...
Thanks, Risa. And we get through it.
Wonderful poem, Kathleen. And you're so right: We do get through it, and, fortunately, also get to see how many more gifts our children give us.
Thanks, Maureen. The gifts of joy are ongoing, and now, with each child, a new kind of closeness.
Very nice. My nephew has a scar on his eyebrow from a very similar sort of early childhood event, and he will be fourteen in the fall. The sneer hasn't developed yet, but I wouldn't say he's exactly scorn free, either.
Neat. Free hugs all around.
Thanks for hugs and words!
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