A Pretty Nice Way of Living

Pooky girl slurps her hot chocolate
with marshmallows. An apple and
some orange juice took too long
yesterday, she says; hot chocolate
and marshmallows are quicker,
and then she can pretend
she’s drinking coffee.

At the garden, she helped me
unkink the hose while telling me
how she told everyone in her class
that her mom writes poems and just
got some published, and one kid said
maybe his mom had read my poems,
and she said, Well, has she ever heard
of Marilyn Cavicchia? And the kid
said, That sounds familiar.

There’s fiction is this somewhere,
but it all feels true.

The Algonquin Indians have
a pretty nice way of living,
she says. I probably have
more than a thousand
hairs on my head.



If it’s Tuesday p.m., which it is here now, be sure to check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.



In the circle of the road,
the oldest circle, of home and away,
we roll on four circles to close
big circles of child and parent,
child and grandparent.

Though we know the circle
can never be unbroken
by distance, by who knows
what gaps in understanding,
differences in seeing,

(How is it that people can
love each other and yet want
such different worlds? Oh,
but they can. They can.)
yet we will try it, sometimes

fail, always try it again,
this trick of bringing our
loose ends together, being
whole, that being enough
for at least a few round days.



For PAD Challenge, Day 7 (prompt: a circle poem) and NaBloPoMo.