It’s a book! It’s poetry! It’s my poem in THINGS WE EAT! Happy Book Birthday, to poets from A to Z!
Look, Ma. I made it. Two of my favorite things, hand in hand: Eating bagels. Writing poetry. (Okay. Third thing: Getting published.) <g> Let it B. Let it Be. Let it be a BAGEL.
It’s a holey, holy, happy holiday here. Celebrate with me.
THINGS WE EAT is here. Ring the bells.
Published! Picturesque! A picnic of delicious delights!
Please visit https://amzn.to/3CvS1T5 to bring this book to your table. All profits go to the IBBY CHILDREN IN CRISIS fund.
Here’s my BAGEL poem selected for the anthology. (I am in excellent company.)
What a perfect and happy ending.
Bagels are my bread and butter in life.
Eat! Repeat! Enjoy. ()
All I wanted to do was go outside to get the mail.
Walking down the driveway, holding my pants higher to avoid touching leftover puddles from yesterday’s rain, two messengers appeared, announcing the immediate changes of the winter season.
Life in the time of Covid has been an endless hibernation. I cannot remember the last time I was outside for more than the essentials. I have not heard sounds of non-human life in so long. Anything foreign to my ears is like hearing an old song for the first time in years.
So what a startling sound it was as I tiptoped down to the mailbox. Birds swooshed over my head, screeching with abandon. It was like their internal alarm clocks set off and no one was hitting the snooze button.
I pulled the mail out of the box. I patted my hand all the way in to make sure I had it all.
Before my hand came out, I let out a little oooh. A huge brown bunny with a palm-sized cottontail raced past me into the front lawn bushes.
Look! Up in the sky and in the snow!
It’s a bird. It’s a bunny. (No planes.)
Knock knock. Who’s there?
It’s Spring! Sort of. Almost. Getting there. Maybe. ;>
The Fight of the Century has ended.
Total knock out. I have been on the ropes.
Eyes swollen. Blood streaks from my despair. Dazed. Confused. Angry. Denial.
(Never reached Acceptance. I don’t give up.)
Tonight, I almost surrendered.
Like the Elton John song: Someone saved my life tonight.
I am The Someone.
It should have been a simple task.
I tried to install the iCloud app on my computer. The computer is a PC and runs on the new Windows 11.
I lost all contact with email, Chrome, Twitter, Facebook, the internet, and all those other fun things for four hours.
I have no idea (except cry and curse) what I just did to make it work again.
I am in shock. I clicked every support button available. No robot could help. I didn’t even know who to call to help at the end of my rope. And then, a great miracle happened after something I did (that I could not reenact here if I tried).
All that matters is I am back.
A friendly word of advice.
Whatever I did to corrupt the system, don’t.
Do not try this at home.
Good ol’ dependable computer. I’m sorry I tried to give you a facelift.
I love you just the way you are.
While watching the ALA announcements this morning, I thought of my own writing and asked myself questions. My soliloquy is something that will fit in to my manuscript. Sharing my note to self. Who in real life ever admits to fitting in? I do not believe I have ever met a writer who believes she or he fit in growing up. I do not know any writer who now thinks she or he fits in. Fits in to what? Is there a secret password for those who know they fit in to whatever that In is? How does it feel to fit in without doubt or duress? How does it feel to wake up every day without wondering about if you’re normal, a member of that In crowd? I have never experienced the luxury of that sense of self. I’m not sure what I would do with it. I don’t know if I would like it. To be or not to be. Those are my questions.
I need a pillow that won’t drive me crazy. My head hits the pillow and I want to hit the highway. It’s come down to this. I am quoting John Cougar Mellencamp.
When I am on the Forbes 500 list, my first splurge will be to buy new pillows for each night. They feel okay Night One. But then? The next night? WHAT WAS I THINKING? I hate this thing!
If you need a salad chef, I’m your girl. I excel in tossing and turning.
Lost. In. Space.
Paging The Book to the front desk, please.
I see this book nearly every day in the house,
like a friendship that passes in the night.
Now that I’m looking for the book, I can’t find it.
I need it. It knows that.
It’s playing hide-and-seek.
So you want to play hard to get?
I’m sorry I neglected you, Book.
I’m not in the mood for these games.
Come out now and show your face! Game over!
————Poet Maggie Smith
Snow takes her solo. Center stage. The crowd, rapt in wonder, holds its applause, afraid to break the rhythm. Play on, play on.
Someone figure-eights to the music of silence.
I am not having a crisis. I am not done.
My new blog focus, framework, idea? CALL THE MIDLIFE.
CALL THE MIDLIFE. Hmmmmm.
Works for me. 🥳
I know how young old I am. No need to feel shame I’m past my Amazon Prime. 😉