Thursday, April 16, 2015

PO-EMotion -- Love




FOR ISAIAH

He died suddenly
after school one day.
A fifth grader
with an undiagnosed heart defect.

Every holiday
his family decorates the tree
planted in front of the school
in his memory.

In between holidays now,
the maple blooms.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015










Carol, at Carol's Corner, will join me again this year as often as possible.

Kimberley, at iWrite in Maine, is joining me this month. 
Kay, at A Journey Through the Pages, is joining, too!
"Wanted"

Steve, at inside the dog, is sharing his poems 
in the comments at Poetrepository.


Heidi, at my juicy little universe, will join us when she can.

Linda, at TeacherDance, will join as often as she can.
Check the comments at A Year of Reading or Poetrepository for her poems.

Kevin (Kevin's Meandering Mind) is back this year,
leaving poetry trax in the comments.

Carol, at Beyond Literacy Link, is writing alongside us when she can.


Jone, at DeoWriter, is doing a "double L" challenge. 
She and I are cross-poLLinating our challenges whenever possible.

8 comments:

  1. I love when people plant trees and flowers for loved ones. It reminds me of the cycle we live. I think blossoms are the most beautiful decoration.

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  2. Those blooms remind all of us that love goes on. Your poem is a beautiful tribute as well.

    My poem today is Wanted:

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  3. Such a beautiful tradition, and your words reflect that beauty.

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  4. I love that you drew the parallel between the maple's blooms and the family's decorations. And that the blooms make you think again of Isaiah.

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  5. A lovely tribute for an untimely death. So sad, yet the blossoms are hopeful.

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  6. I am sure you are planning on sending this beautiful poem to Isaiah's family and maybe hanging it on the tree.

    Languages of Love"

    That hearts and candy
    and flowers love.
    I don't know
    how to speak that language.

    But the buying groceries
    and cooking dinner
    and helping with algebra homework
    and washing uniforms
    and sitting in the bleachers
    and making pizza runs
    for the football team
    I know how to do that kind of love.

    And the staying up really late
    making a tres leche cake
    for the social studies potluck
    or spending the whole weekend
    helping build a museum room diorama
    of a twentieth century
    African American poet.
    I know how to do that kind of love.

    The not having dinner with friends
    because everyone on the basketball team
    is getting brand new matching shoes
    and I hadn't planned on that expense
    or the working extra jobs
    to pay for an apartment,
    and groceries and public service bills
    I know how to do that kind of love.

    The sitting at parent teacher conferences
    or suspension hearings
    hearing about your inadequacies
    and the heart stopping panic
    as you lay unmoving on the football field
    I know how to do that kind of love.

    The telling you that you can't come home
    until you straighten up
    and get your act together
    and be the men
    that I know you are capable of being.

    That's another language
    I don't know how to speak.

    (c) Carol Wilcox, 2015

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  7. Thank you for this beautiful bit of poetry healing, Mary Lee.

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