Let Your HeartShe writes messages in chalk, fills the blank black of public paths with colorful encouragement. I took her for a tween, but she is a grown-ass woman, who knows what she wants. She wants you to let your heart sparkle, wants this so much she drops to her knees. Her skin lifts gravel and carries it home. There is gravel on her floor, gravel in the carpet, but here on the path, the one that we share, there is only glitter and the falling light, bouncing back to dazzle our eyes and maybe, set our hearts sparkling.
Even though I'm not on the 100-poem pilgrimmage, I have enjoyed reading all your poems. I'm more of a prose writer, but this specific Sparkle poem motivated me to tell a little more of the mysterious story of the "grown-ass woman."
Her own heart sparkles.
Remarkable, really
Because she carries a burden.
A burden of love, duty, care
For a mother who is no longer whole,
though her body appears able.
She follows her mother around the trails
Just to make sure the eighty years of motor memory still serve,
Are not yet affected by the ravager.
She writes often of love,
Almost always with a big chalky heart.
Trail messages left for her mother to mark home base?
Encouragement for herself to mark her spirit’s way?
Perhaps just a boost to bored walkers.
One time I saw her watch from her secreted lawn swing
As neighbors passed, stopping to read the latest post on the path.
This is a lovely epilogue to Lisa's poem, thank you for sharing. I wonder if her heart sparkles, in part, because of her burden. I've often thought that which doesn't kill us may not make us stronger, but softer (and more sparkly?).
Hooray, Judy! This is so lovely -- one would think poetry was your native medium. It's really cool to learn more about the chalk fairy of the Maumelle trails. I love the idea of those messages being markers for her mom -- but also of their marking the way for, and encouraging, her own spirit.
I love this one, but I struggled with writing my poem. I'm not sure why - maybe because I was writing about a childhood friend - but it feels kind of juvenile and unfinished. But I think that's okay.
You may have felt it hard to write this, A...but it was a very moving read ! I love the way in which your poem really honors your differences and comes to rest in a place of self reclamation. Beautiful! Also love the use of "cosplaying" and your taking note of the fact that it was fun for them to mask because it is a choice for them, and a form of play, unlike those of us who had to mask to try to sit at tables where we didn't want to be sitting to begin with.
I so enjoyed your poem, Lisa...I love the imaginal lines about her lifting gravel and carrying it home til it rests on her floor and in her carpet...then, I love how you juxtapose the gravel with the glitter and light. I also loved that you turned your experience into this beautiful prompt. Here's what your prompt got from me and my "pen":
I want to quote ALL of the lines of your poem back to you to tell you how much I love them! I had such fun reading about your neighbors and their “indefatigable inner kids.” And the image of delight that leaks out like soap bubbles from a sponge is so lovely.
Haha, thank you, Karri. I'm so glad you liked the ending...I know not just anyone would (I can think of more than a few folks who would string me up for saying so).
I love that you have a comic genius-doppelganger in your 'hood, and I love that you have named him a "boxy button" on the "tapestry of hippies and backwoodsmen." That he is "threadbare in places" was also such a wonderful image, perfect for a salty old codger.
Inspired by my youngest who just turned 21 this month.
.
She pretends it’s spooky season all year long
Black cats and Jack o lanterns out in June.
Tends accidental sunflowers in her yard
From scattered birdseed that took root and grew.
Framed photographs of strangers on her walls
From nearly a hundred years ago.
She finds them in forgotten thrift store booths
And thinks that every one should have a home.
She does some crazy things just for the laughs
Just check out her very first tattoo.
A baby cowboy, only she knows why
It just seemed like a funny thing to do.
Sometimes the sadness hides behind her eyes
Covered by the stories that she tells.
But when she tries something new she gives her all
And when she loves someone she loves them well.
What a gorgeous, heartwarming tribute to your daughter, who sounds like such a marvelously unique and vivacious soul!
This makes me want to be friends with your daughter. She sounds wonderful.
Love this, Karri...and your daughter sounds like a truly singular, clever, creative, and loving soul <3
Beautiful, Karri! The poem and the human you're describing. :)
Even though I'm not on the 100-poem pilgrimmage, I have enjoyed reading all your poems. I'm more of a prose writer, but this specific Sparkle poem motivated me to tell a little more of the mysterious story of the "grown-ass woman."
Her own heart sparkles.
Remarkable, really
Because she carries a burden.
A burden of love, duty, care
For a mother who is no longer whole,
though her body appears able.
She follows her mother around the trails
Just to make sure the eighty years of motor memory still serve,
Are not yet affected by the ravager.
She writes often of love,
Almost always with a big chalky heart.
Trail messages left for her mother to mark home base?
Encouragement for herself to mark her spirit’s way?
Perhaps just a boost to bored walkers.
One time I saw her watch from her secreted lawn swing
As neighbors passed, stopping to read the latest post on the path.
I hope our reactions send sparkles to her heart.
Judy, this is so beautiful! Your poem has sent sparkles to my heart and is also making me want to sneak out to the trail to leave a message for her!
This is a lovely epilogue to Lisa's poem, thank you for sharing. I wonder if her heart sparkles, in part, because of her burden. I've often thought that which doesn't kill us may not make us stronger, but softer (and more sparkly?).
What a wonderful way to expound the woman in Lisa’s poem!!
Hooray, Judy! This is so lovely -- one would think poetry was your native medium. It's really cool to learn more about the chalk fairy of the Maumelle trails. I love the idea of those messages being markers for her mom -- but also of their marking the way for, and encouraging, her own spirit.
I love this, Judy. I'm so glad you decided to share and expound on the woman from Lisa's poem.
I love this one, but I struggled with writing my poem. I'm not sure why - maybe because I was writing about a childhood friend - but it feels kind of juvenile and unfinished. But I think that's okay.
Megg was the first friend I had
who seemed so fully herself
that even the bullies couldn't break
her sense of self. From the outskirts,
she charted a way forward that led
to a hard-fought confidence
to which my years of trying still
cannot compare. But we are not
so different, just like we weren't
back then. Megg now puts on a face,
cosplaying their favourite characters -
masking for fun because they
never grew up wearing one - and I
have finally learned to remove mine,
after years of trying, no longer vying for
seats at tables not built for me.
We are both quite grown
into our selves now.
“Masking for fun because they
never grew up wearing one” - oh wow, I love this so much!
You may have felt it hard to write this, A...but it was a very moving read ! I love the way in which your poem really honors your differences and comes to rest in a place of self reclamation. Beautiful! Also love the use of "cosplaying" and your taking note of the fact that it was fun for them to mask because it is a choice for them, and a form of play, unlike those of us who had to mask to try to sit at tables where we didn't want to be sitting to begin with.
"No longer vying for / seats at tables not built for me" -- lovely, A!
Oh this is lovely. I can almost see you two passing each other. You handing off the mask and Megg accepting it.
I so enjoyed your poem, Lisa...I love the imaginal lines about her lifting gravel and carrying it home til it rests on her floor and in her carpet...then, I love how you juxtapose the gravel with the glitter and light. I also loved that you turned your experience into this beautiful prompt. Here's what your prompt got from me and my "pen":
*
The folks who seem to glow
from within and throw
their light like suncatchers
refracting rainbows
Must have indefatigable
inner kids. A play posse that
leaves sweet, sticky thumbprints
of joy on every heart they touch.
Funny enough,
you’d never know, looking at them.
In my town, they seem to be the
unhoused folks, the ones who
look like they have nothing but
actually, have everything that matters.
With delight to spare. It leaks out,
like soap bubbles from a sponge.
There’s the Lady who picks up trash and
drops off silly jokes. You know,
like that one about the golfer
who wore two pairs of pants
because he had a hole in one.
Or the guy who whistles so intricately
I believe that his inner kids have to be
musical prodigies.
Or the shopping cart bard
who asks for nothing but
a moment of time, a small space
for their rhymes to find their place.
And finally, who comes to mind but
Jesus. Yeah, THAT Jesus, who I feel sure
was not God’s only begotten son, but
more likely, Her inner child.
I want to quote ALL of the lines of your poem back to you to tell you how much I love them! I had such fun reading about your neighbors and their “indefatigable inner kids.” And the image of delight that leaks out like soap bubbles from a sponge is so lovely.
Thanks, friend. I loved how your prompt gave me a chance to reflect on these special souls and imagine their inner worlds (and think of my own, too).
This is so wonderful, Keith. I agree with Lisa, I think it's too hard to pick lines, but all the imagery is just so good.
Thank you, A...it's making *my* inner kids happy to know you liked it :))
Bravo Keith. And the last line. Perfection!
Haha, thank you, Karri. I'm so glad you liked the ending...I know not just anyone would (I can think of more than a few folks who would string me up for saying so).
This poem is sticky thumbprints of joy -- I love it and the pictures you paint here.
Thanks, Rebekah - so glad it left some sticky thumbprints of joy for you :)
There once was a mustached man named Lew,
.
and his musical feats were great, that's true
.
His marching band sketches
Were masterful stretches
.
But when his 'cycle cleared the flutes,
all breathed "WHEW!!!!"
.
.
(GHS marching royal dukes, 1972-75)
A limerick! I love that you have written this limerick...seems like the perfect genre for this prompt :))
This is so delightful!
The Stan Lee lookalike
has a dog named Karma,
a name which, being a
salty old Yankee,
he can’t totally abide,
but can’t bear to change.
It was his sire name,
but he dried up at two,
and that is how they got
a champion spaniel
for nothing.
.
Stan Lee popped up
in our tiny western town
like a glaring cameo,
a boxy button
on this tapestry of
hippies and backwoodsmen.
He was quirky the first time
I met him, but this time
I wondered about
end-stage quirk.
He asked our dogs’ names,
and in the next breath,
Allegro became Seymour.
He raved about Allegro/Seymour
and his fine rump.
As his wife pulled him
down the sidewalk,
he called over his shoulder,
“You should have named him
Rump!”
.
We haven’t ever gotten
to human names.
To me he is just Stan Lee,
a gregarious old joker,
threadbare in places but
still making his rounds,
here to defend us from
the space villains
with spider-sense and
green might,
here to spin stories
and cast dog walks
in brilliant color.
“Here to cast dog walks in brilliant color!” I love this - actually I just love the whole poem!
I love that you have a comic genius-doppelganger in your 'hood, and I love that you have named him a "boxy button" on the "tapestry of hippies and backwoodsmen." That he is "threadbare in places" was also such a wonderful image, perfect for a salty old codger.
This is so good! I love that you have only shared dog names, and "threadbare in places but/ still making his rounds" is wonderful.
This 💗💗💗💗:
I took her for a tween, but
she is a grown-ass woman, who
knows what she wants.
She wants you
to let your heart sparkle,
Awww thanks, Claire! I’m glad those lines grabbed you!
"....a grown ass woman"
fancy that.🙃
Lovely... Oh the beauty of eccentricity...
That is so adorable!!! And where (if you don’t mind sharing) in AR. We live in central but my oldest and i are in NWA for a few days.
I’m in Maumelle, just outside of Little Rock. I’ll turn to the northwest and wave in your direction!
You are about a half hour from where I live! I used to frequent Maumelle for the fact it was the nearest county that wasn’t dry!
Oh my goodness, if you want to grab coffee next time I’m here, I would love that!
That would be amazing