Friday, September 16, 2011

Poetry Friday: Hurry

Yesterday, Janet left this comment on last week's Poetry Friday post here at my blog: "Okay, this is your last day before Friday to post something other than a Poetry Friday post. Waiting, waiting..."

Janet, I'm hanging my head in shame. Once again I went a whole week without posting between Poetry Fridays. And as Friday ebbs away with Parent/Teacher Conferences, grading quizzes, and finally some family time with my coughing son, exhausted husband (he was up with said son in the night), and happy daughter (she found some recordings today of Tolkien reading some of his work), I was starting to wonder if there would even be a Poetry Friday post this week. While I don't want Poetry Friday to be the only thing on my blog, I also don't want there to be nothing at all for my visitors to read.

I guess life must be back to normal for me, because week after week goes by filled with ordinary days, ordinary frustrations. Last week we had the twenty-month anniversary of the earthquake and the first time I thought of it was at quarter to seven in the evening. This was the first time the anniversary did not fill up my day; each month up until now, I have been aware of significance all day long on the twelfth. It's good to be more me again, but at the same time I never want to lose the sense of urgency the earthquake gave me, the desire to savor each day.

Today I found this poem:


By Marie Howe

We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.

Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.

And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.

I don't want to hurry through the days; I want to take time to appreciate them. Yes, I have to grade those quizzes, but there's time for some poetry too.

You can see what other people posted for Poetry Friday here.

And Janet, I really will try next week to post something other than Poetry Friday!


Amy L V said...

This poem makes me cry, remember, and know that I must slow down. Thank you, Ruth. I, too, have been posting only on Fridays...enjoying the slow pace of autumn coming and the quick reminders of children growing out of sneakers... Be well. A.

Linda B said...

It's a wonderful 'lesson' for us to slow down, & put away the papers for a while. I will share this with all those busy colleagues at my school, and with my daughter, who has two young children and a job!

GatheringBooks said...

Spoken with such truth indeed. Life just whizzes past us - I don't know if it's part of the aging process, our increasing responsibilities, or where we are situated geographically (I live in singapore where I constantly rush rush rush after time) - but your reminder is so true and so real. There is always always time for poetry.

Here's hoping that your children will be well soon.

Janet said...

Wow. If you're squeezed down to one post a week, you certainly made the most of it with this poem. I had the same reaction Amy did.

This sounds so much like me, though I often forget the "Honey." I need to remember that trick of "You be the mother."

Such a busy season. Your priorities are in the right place -- life, not blogging. But I do hope it eases up soon. I love to see what you're thinking about and reading here.