the wave of summer
by watching Ellen,
free in the rhythms of her little being —
I saw the way the way Amie
wrote emoshons (emotions)
on a scrap of paper
on the floor, in her room
and I wondered about ordering a spelling curriculum.
(I could use it too.)
I kept Wallace up too late,
because I wanted to keep
reading Edward Tulane* to the girls,
but it’s such a sad story — that
it’s hard to find a good stopping point
and the sadness of the book
was flowing into the sadness in my heart.
It isn’t a wide river
but it contains
unresolved thoughts about Harry;
unpleasant visits to the orthodontist;
and, most recently,
an unsettling conversation in which I felt
when I was hoping to feel
And so as much as I wanted to sink into Edward Tulane, I couldn’t.