Caroline Starr Rose was the author host on Gae Polisner’s July 24th Friday Feedback. Her lesson was about poetry and music, and it came at the right moment to capture a significant event in my life. Here’s what I posted:


Thank you, Gae and Caroline!

I appreciated Gae’s comments about recognizing when we are writing even when the words don’t always reach paper. This has been true for me many times this week.

Caroline, I enjoyed your connections with poetry and music. The two are, without a doubt, linked. These are my thoughts on the poem you shared about Buffalo Bill:

What worked? You’ve used strong verbs: surrenders, nickers, gallop, clutch. The specificity creates a mood and a visual.
What didn’t? Nothing.
Am I hooked? Yes. I’m interested to learn more, and like the lively pace of your poem, and how it picks up momentum. I think my third graders would be interested, too!

Thank you for sharing your work and your ideas!

As for my writing, I’ve been checked out of this week’s lessons and posting on account of spending time with my son during his last week home. Tonight my husband and I had dinner one last time with him before he boards a plane from JFK, bound for Japan tomorrow. As we hugged and put him in an uber car, my heart was a giant ache and my face was covered in tears. As we returned to our table, I saw he’d left behind his leftover food– the snack for after his shower before climbing into bed for a good night’s sleep before a long journey by plane. I grabbed it and ran back out. The uber was gone. I looked down 65th Ave., and there it stood, at the red light. I thought, too late, and then I thought, maybe… I ran and ran as fast as my wedge fitflops would move, and just as the light changed, I reached the car. The driver looked toward the movement approaching his window. I led with the brown paper bag. My son looked up in surprise and understanding. I passed the bag to the driver and backed away as the driver continued. I walked back to the restaurant and was applauded by a couple who’d watched. You did it, they said. Good job. Thank you, I said. But I knew, I couldn’t have looked at that bag that held comfort food for my baby. I returned to our table and told my husband that I’d made it, and then I jotted this poem in my writer’s notebook. It is unedited. It is what fell out as tears continued to leak down my cheeks. It felt like a song.

Said goodbye to my baby
Said goodbye to my baby, baby
Squeezed him tight and
said I love you.
Said goodbye to my
baby tonight.
Kissed that boy and
sent him off-
Baby no more
But said goodbye to
my baby, my baby.
Said goodbye to my baby

It’s more of a ditty I suppose, but it might develop into more as I roll around the feelings of growing up a child, and successfully launching a young man, who will always be my baby- my baby.