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
tonight.
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
tonight.

~~~
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.