I remember colored baby chicks, dying eggs, and filling baskets
with plastic grass, and sometimes wildflowers,
but only at the farm.
I remember shopping for new white shoes, a hat, and gloves,
and trips to the fabric store for yellow-dotted Swiss and white netting
for the petticoat.
I remember waking early, hoping to find chocolate eggs, jellybeans,
and small treasures hidden in the grass, bookmarks, hairbands,
for my brother, a metal truck.
I remember the fuss and busyness of getting ready for church,
and when I was older dressing three squirmy sisters
who only wanted to play.
I remember piling in the car, all five of us plus Mom and Dad
trying not to wrinkle, scuff my shoes, or forget the new holy card
tucked in my prayer book.
I remember sitting through mass, the holy music ringing
through my ears, and the hushes and warning to sit still,
“We’ll be home soon.”
I remember posing for photographs, lined up, perfect,
the videos of hunting for eggs and my brother tossing his basket
treasures into the street.
I remember growing up, becoming a mom, dying eggs, sewing matching outfits,
hiding eggs, Easter mornings, and taking photographs.
I remember it all.
[A poem: “I Remember”]
Our lives overflow with memories often forgotten, but National Poetry Month has thrown me into poetry-writing mode. Many of you may be rolling your eyes and sighing, or shaking your head, “Who needs poetry?”
Poetry isn’t limited to long obscure epics or strictly metered rhyme. The music of words literally surrounds us, even in songs.
Songwriters pen poems and bring them to life with melodies. We sing those poems in the shower, whistle, and hum the notes as the words be-bop in our heads.
We remember the poetry of that first dance, a moonlit night, the raucous gathering of family and friends, and oh the dancing!
I remember all those songs—all the poetry.
What do you remember?
For National Poetry Month, I remember the day poetry grabbed me I never let go.
You can find any poem to suit your interest or poetic tolerance level at poets.org, a site of the Academy of American Poets.
I remember The Easter Parade watching the late-night movies.
Music and poetry are transformative tools that connect us to each other and to ourselves.
Poetry doesn’t have to be hard. It can be about dogs or flowers or if or death or pigs or laundry. It can be fun or weird or life-changing. It can be old or modern, have form or float around.
Find a little wonder this week, see what you remember, and have a Happy Easter, Passover, Spring, or the traditions important to you.
I always welcome your thoughts, so, please leave me a message or click the little heart at the bottom of the page.
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Easter joy found within a memory.
Rather dull, alone.
Excited by others story of spring and renewal.
Time to eat a chocolate egg. 🐇🌸🐰😊