The Poetry Sisters wrote diminishing verse poems this month. Thank goodness I got started early fiddling with drafts and studying mentor texts because the last couple of weeks have been a lot. In all good ways.
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.
In 2020, Buffy Silverman took readers “puddle-sploshing” in On A Snow-Melting Day: Seeking Signs of Spring. Vivid photographs and a snappy rhyming text earned this book recognition as an NCTE Notable Poetry Book for 2021.
Then last fall, we wandered through forests and meadows, pausing at ponds to witness animals and plants in On a Gold-Blooming Day: Finding Fall Treasures, a 2023 CLA/NCTE Notable Children’s Books in the Language Arts, and a Children’s Book Committee at Bank Street College of Education Best Children’s Books of the Year for 2023.
I missed getting to share “Snow-Melting” with students in 2020, but every one of my after-school kiddos loved “Gold-Blooming” last fall. I can’t wait to share “Flake-Flying” in a few months! Reading these books with small groups gathered close allows for time to study and talk about the photographs, to track the rhymes, and, when a question comes up, verify facts or vocabulary with the informational back matter and/or glossary. In a regular classroom setting, teachers could create a seasonal text set for each book using the titles listed for “Further Reading.” And in writing workshop, the books would make fantastic mentor texts for studying creative ways to hyphenate words as well as ways to craft leads and endings.
My favorite rhymes in ON A FLAKE-FLYING DAY are the ones that start the book off: “On a feather-fluffing, seed-stuffing, cloud-puffing day…” My favorite photo is the frosty-topped cedar waxwing practically posing with a berry in its beak:
And my favorite fact is that dragonfly nymphs prowl for minnows and other aquatic insects below the frozen surfaces of winter waters. (Dragonflies are amazing in all the stages of their lives!)
I asked Buffy to tell us a little bit about her process. I wondered if the photos came first, or the words. Here’s what she had to say:
Although I enjoy taking photographs, I’m really not a visual thinker. The words always come first for me–and then I hope that there will be a way to illustrate them! With this book I followed the pattern from ON A SNOW-MELTING DAY and ON A GOLD-BLOOMING DAY. In each of the books there are four sets of refrains (On a feather-fluffing, seed-stuffing, cloud-puffing day…) followed by three pairs of rhyming sentences (Weasel whitens. Cardinal brightens…) In each of the books I included sights and sounds from a field, a wetland, and a forest, and ended with a child outside, enjoying the season. Basically the books are the nature walks I would want to take with a child or other reader!
Lots of us in the Northern Hemisphere are looking forward to winter’s relief from this summer’s heat. Pre-order ON A FLAKE-FLYING DAY now so that come October 3, you will be guaranteed snow, ice, and frost…if only between the pages of Buffy’s newest (fantastic-as-the-other-two) book! Thank you, Buffy, for giving me this opportunity to help you spread the word, and thank you, Millbrook Press, for the review copy!
Amy has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at The Poem Farm.
Those of you who were curious about what I had in mind for my poem last week, it was a combination of literal (a traffic jam of cars) but also metaphorical (life changes following retirement). I had loads of fun hearing what pictures the poem made in your minds and I’m SO glad I chose not to add an image!
I struggled with an image to pair with my poem. I didn’t want to activate in your imagination any particular situation. So I’m curious to know, what is this poem about…for you? Who is the “I”?
Margaret challenged the Inklings to study enjambment this month. This poem got started with the sneaky way I included in-jam-meant. Then I noticed I was writing in three-syllable lines, which sort of forced the issue of enjambment. So I cheated a little, but it was still interesting to notice which lines DO have a natural pause/stop and which lines are enjambed.
I found myself noticing enjambment as I finished the Sealey Challenge. This year, I discovered a new favorite poet, Kate Baer, thanks to the recommendation of I can’t remember which one of you. I am in AWE of the way she used enjambment in this poem:
Speaking of the Sealey Challenge, here are the books I read this past week: THE RED EAR BLOWS ITS NOSE by Robert Schechter (2 days), WHAT KIND OF WOMAN by Kate Baer, WHAT HAVE YOU LOST? ed. Naomi Shihab Nye, THE PARTING PRESENT by Manuel Iris (2 days), I HOPE THIS FINDS YOU WELL by Kate Baer, AND YET by Kate Baer (still in progress).
Speaking of enjambment and the Inklings, here’s what the rest of the crew came up with this month:
A(nother) Year of Reading 