Zane Kathryne Schwaiger

Make Something, Mama

13 :: Juice

Every day, he says,

“I want to make something, Mama.”

as he drags a chair across from the table to the butcher block
and climbs,
stands up tall
next to me,
ready.

I’ve been making something
with a little person (or two, or three)
next to me,
every day
for more than 13 years.

Some days
it wears me out.
I dream about being alone
and uninterrupted.

But other days I stand in awe
of how this simple act
repeated over and over again,

alchemy in the kitchen,
in the garden,

has shaped their hands,
made my life,
nourished our family.

Born to Farming

1 :: In Our Greenhouse Together

The grower of tress, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
He thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
that the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
descending in the dark?

The Man Born to Farming by Wendell Berry

Here we are, in our winter greenhouse, on January first. Unveiling the hardy greens that have survived the cold nights. This is the perfect place to begin our year together. Side-by-side. Grounded in home.

Blackout Poetry

283 :: Blackout Poetry

Amie is teaching me how to do blackout poetry. We are both working with a page, copied from The Secret Garden, and creating different poems from the same text. The idea is to “black out” the words or word fragments you don’t want to use and then create a poem with the shape of what’s left. Have you ever done this before? I didn’t know about the world of Blackout Poetry until Amie showed me a google search of so many examples out there, both visually and word wise. Creating poetry from existing words on a page is such a different way to spend time with literature. I’m finding it fascinating. I could spend hours doing this sort of creative work if Wallace wasn’t dismantling the entire house behind me . . . doing his own version of blackout housework, I suppose!