Ghazal for the Sky

 

Late Summer

 

Unexpected Adventures in Housecleaning

 

You Are Here

 

The Inklings’ challenge this month was simultaneously issued by Catherine, by Ada Limón, and by Mo Daley at Ethical ELA.

Catherine charged us with joining Ada Limón’s Poet Laureate project, “You Are Here.” The Library of Congress website describes it as a “project is for everyone, and I hope people of all ages—poets and nonpoets—will feel moved to write their own response to the “You Are Here” prompt. It’s simple: What would you write in response to the landscape around you?

On Day Three of Ethical ELA’s Open Write last week, Mo Daley challenged writers to try an X Marks the Spot Poem: “Find a print article from a magazine that interests you…Once you have chosen your article, simply draw an X through the page. You will then write your poem using the words touching your X.” I printed the full text of Ada Limón’s challenge to receive my X, and the words that touched the X are italicized in my poem:

“I believe the way we respond to this crucial moment on our planet could define humanity forever. In conceiving of my signature project, I wanted something that could both praise our sacred and natural wonders and also speak the complex truths of this urgent time. It’s my hope that You Are Here will do just that,” Limón said. “You Are Here: Poetry in the Parks aims to deepen our connection to nature through poetry, and You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World is an anthology that speaks to the many different ways we are nature too. It may seem easier to surrender to the overwhelm of the world’s challenges right now, but I believe that singing out, offering something back to the earth, noticing our connection to the planet, could help us all move forward together in a powerful way.”

Limón said this project is for everyone, and she hopes people of all ages — poets and non-poets — will feel moved to write their own responses to the You Are Here prompt. It’s simple: What would you write in response to the landscape around you? People can share their responses on social media if they choose, using the hashtag #YouAreHerePoetry.

“Above all, this project is about rising to this moment with hope, the kind of hope that will echo outwards for years to come,” Limón said.

In the Want Ads

 

Intelligence

 

Wish You Were Here

 

Valentine to Tea

 

Sky

 

Secrets

 

Ekphrastic

 

Small Moment

 

Today

 

image via Flickr

 (after “Today, When I Could do Nothing” by Jane Hirschfield)

Yuletide Poetry Prompts

 

generosity: the urge to share what we have with others 
(prompt: ask what generosity really means)

laughter: the singular human ability to convert the unexpected into joy
(prompt: capture the sound of laughter)

Elfchen

 

clouds
stereotypically blanketing
December’s morning sky
no warmth, and yet
comfort

© Mary Lee Hahn, 2023

brot
warm, frisch
mit Schinken, Käse,
und natürlich viele Butter:
lecker

© Mary Lee Hahn, 2023

Definito for Avoirdupois

 

Grandmother Oak

 

In Response to Recent News

 

In response to the Albert Rios poem, “A House Called Tomorrow”

In the Style of Valerie Worth

 

Let's Start Small

 

Autumn Haibun

 

The Torture of a Gorgeous Fall Day

 

This poem is a Bouts-Rimés.

The scratch of pencil on paper is the poem

Written after the Poem-a-Day from the Academy of American Poets, “The warble of melting snow is the river.”

 

Ordinary

 

Diminishing Verse

 

Basil, oil, pecans, and garlic all go into the blender.

Summer is a giver, not a lender –

her heat the beginner, her pesto the ender.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2023

Diminishing verse: blender -- lender -- ender.

Portrait of My Mother With the Letter S

Portrait of My Mother With the Letter S

Seamstress is the first word that comes to mind. She sewed so many clothes: Easter dresses, guitar recital outfits, twirling competition costumes, matching Western shirts for Dad and David for the fair, doll clothes. All of this on a Singer Featherweight.

She was no chef, though she was a foodie through and through. I remember the smell of scorched lima beans, and the macadamia nuts she secreted away on a top shelf. For a treat, we had broiled spare ribs. I know now that “spare” is the word for “this is a treat even though there’s hardly any meat on the bone.” 

She was a saver. A collector. Almost a hoarder. Miniatures, Hallmark house ornaments, glass boxes. And scissors. If I could turn back time, I would ask her – why so many pairs of scissors? Shears (sewing and pinking), embroidery, children’s, vintage, modern plastic-handled Fiskars, and so many manicure scissors. 

She was a reader. Mostly mysteries, she bought books at the library sale by the sackful. A secret code in the back cover let her know if she’d already read the book and donated it back to the library.

She gave up salt when she was pregnant with me. I don’t think I can fully appreciate this sacrifice.

She bought me private swimming lessons when I was four because I wasn’t old enough for Red Cross lessons, but I was ready to swim.

She bought me private sewing lessons so we wouldn’t squabble (she the perfectionist, me the good-enough-ionist).

I don’t remember being swatted or spanked, but there was one memorable slap when I disobeyed and walked home from school in my good shoes and was sassy about what the big deal could possibly have been. 

One winter, she drove with me out into the country to escape the lights of town so we could see the Ursid meteor shower. We lay on a blanket on the hood of the ‘60 Ford Falcon and watched shooting stars as the car’s engine warmed us, then cooled off until we had seen enough and were shivering.

By the end of her life, her body was covered in scars: hysterectomy, knee/hip/shoulder replacements, double mastectomy. Her soul was scarred by a hateful father and the early loss of her mother. She had a high pain threshold for all the kinds of pain she carried. She wanted for us the childhood she never had, failing to see us as individuals who needed our own childhoods, not hers.

I remember her standing at the kitchen sink, admiring the sunset, often calling me to come and see.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2023
After the poem Portrait of My Father With the Letter V

 

Caught. Not Kept

 

At A Loss

 

This is an Exquisite Corpse poem. Its origin story is here.