Poets in the Making

I have said before that poetry seems to have left me. I still see life through that lens. The snow. The birds. The dog curled up at the foot of my bed. And yes, the heartache too. But none of it bubbles up to words that pour out on paper.

I am really enjoying a new book I'm reading: Lit by Mary Karr. Karr is a poet, and this memoir, thus far, seems to tell her tale of the struggle to become the poet she always knew she was. It is also about her own alcoholism as well as her mother's and father's -- the craziness she grew up in and ran from, only to live out herself in her own way. I heard her interviewed a few months ago on NPR and knew I had to read this book. Through it all, somehow, some way, she recently met up with God and converted to Catholicism. Here's a quote from the book jacket:

"If you'd told me even a year before I started taking my son to church regular that I'd wind up whispering my sins in the confessional or on my knees saying the rosary, I would've laughed myself cockeyed. More likely pastime? Pole dancer. International spy. Drug mule. Assassin."

It's a long book, and I've only just begun...but I'm enjoying hearing about her journey to prize-winning poet. Which got me thinking about my friend's daughter, who I mentioned months ago.

Last year, as a seventh grader, she had to write some poems for English class. My friend sent me one of them, to get my opinion. It brought tears to my eyes. I was just amazed that this 12-year-old girl had written something so evocative. Her family had recently moved from northern New Jersey to North Carolina, and their new home is so different from their old one. This poem perfectly captures her first home and her family heritage. Happily, I have permission to share the poem with you.

"Where I'm From"

I am from a shack red house in Englewood,
potato chip bags and soda cans in the front yard.
From a huge old tree that stood over the years,
only to be knocked down by the wind.
I am from sweltering summers and freezing
winters, from Bear Mountain and the Bronx Zoo.
From a restaurant business father and an english
teaching mother.
I am from running like the wind, and writing like
fire, from doodling and drawing on gray rainy days.
I am from a line of teachers and mentors on both sides
of the street, and this I will become.

I am blossoming like a pansy in the spring, yearning for
sunshine, needing earth and love to grow.