Ode To Mom

This poem makes my heart burst, of course. And throb and ache and all those terrible, wonderful things that hearts do when they are confronted by raw love.

It’s worth noting that I don’t ride a bike to school – or anywhere – and that I don’t make lunch. I understand why she decided to go with with ‘Smunch’ as a nickname – her real nickname doesn’t rhyme with ‘lunch’ – but again, I don’t make lunch, so it really wasn’t an issue to begin with.

But whatever. What are facts in the face of poetry?

She is my heart – ‘my hart’ – and I am hers, and that is all that matters.


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Random Inspiration #637

March 24, 2011

Theodore Dreiser, as interpreted by Gary Sweeney (at the San Antonio Museum of Art. Well, in the parking lot.) This statement raises the question, of course: where does that leave peanut butter? It helps, though, if one completes Dreiser’s quote – “… gathered on wings of misery and travail” – and you realize, oh, he’s [...]

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