As I looked for a poem for today,
the ones that caught my eye were mostly about sleep.
That's the first thing on my agenda
I will spend this day,
this four-days-before-Christmas day,
with a class full of preteens
who will begin the day
with a 30 minute dance party
and end the day with a Holiday party.
Which state standards should I try to meet in the middle time,
the time between those two excitements?
Back to tomorrow.
Check out Billy Collins' poem Reading Myself to Sleep. It's in QUESTIONS ABOUT ANGELS. I decided not to pick a sleep poem because what I really want is time for myself. I give you
by Billy Collins
Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso—
maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins—
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso
(The rest is here. Round up is at AmoXcalli.)