Poetry Friday: The Embroidery

I know many of you get the same daily poems I do, and maybe like me, you don’t always have time to read them all. Here’s one I want to make sure you didn’t miss.

Lessons At the Legendary Institute for Yarn Spinning by Rigoberto González.

The rest of the poem is here.

Now, this poem won’t do for the kinds of lies and stories being told by the creeps and grifters in our current government, but it’s perfect for all the stories write into our poems. As the author’s grandmother advises, “If you’re going to make things up, do it well.”

Here’s to all the things you made up this week, and especially the ones you’re sharing in the Poetry Friday roundup, which is hosted this week by Susan at Chicken Spaghetti and as I type this I realize that I have not written to her challenge. Yikes! Since I’m uncharacteristically early getting this post ready, there might be time for a flash draft. Stay tuned.

Well, lookie there…

22 thoughts on “Poetry Friday: The Embroidery”

  1. Embuste! I love it. “Perhaps even pride.” It’s not always easy to tell with abuelas.

    And, Mary Lee, wow, Your Flash Draft is wonderful! I’m so glad for those “just for a moment” moments when they come my way.

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  2. I will remember ’embuste’ and a memory of a friend’s young son telling that his little sis was the one who wrote her name on the wall going up the stairs. She was two! And, that memory that “flashed” for you, Mary Lee, is a gift for you, and one I am grateful that you shared!

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  3. I love this poem, and his abuela’s words. ❤️

    And your flash draft! Wow! 🤩 Gorgeous in itself, and so wistful and quietly moving. My husband, daughter, and I call each other to the window often and how many tiny, gorgeous memories have we made that way? In Dear Writer, Maggie Smith said she and her kids call those moments a “beauty emergency.”

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  4. Love how you captured that beautiful moment in your flash draft — made even more memorable because it was shared. I don’t remember reading the Gonzalez poem before, so thanks for sharing it. Ah, the wisdom of grandmothers . . .

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  5. I love the title of the poem you shared and the poem itself. Your flashdraft is beautifully poignant. I’m pretty sure I remember you saying that your mom often called you over to see the beauty of the sunset. I’m imagining you feeling her presence. What a gift those moments are, and how lovely to have captured it in your poem.

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  6. Mary Lee, I have been listening to a podcast (The Poetry Space episodes 125-126) about titles in poems. This one really stuck out to me. “Lessons at the Legendary Institute for Yarn Spinning.” It was intriguing but had a deeper meaning once you read the full poem. Thanks for sharing. And your flash draft? Wow. It was wonderful. Your lovely words drew me in visually and emotionally. Well done!

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    1. That title was literally what caused busy me to click in and read the poem in the first place, rather than rushing past it like I do with so many others that land in my inbox. I’m so glad I slowed down for this one. And you are so right about the payoff for the title coming at the very end of the poem. Brilliant craft move!

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  7. Oh, Mary Lee, you captured such a sweet and longing memory of being by the window looking out at the prairie sunset with your loved one. I am in awe of this beauty, Mary Lee. Thank you, too, for sharing Gonzalez’s poem with us too. Lovely post.

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  8. This made me happy: “As the author’s grandmother advises, “If you’re going to make things up, do it well.” I love when people read my poetry and believe it to be true.Thank you for the journey to childhood.

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  9. Mary Lee, I like how both poems can be in conversation with each other — I hear a “Stop! I’m waiting for you..” in the memory of a grandmother who could be both firm and loving. Thank you for sharing both.

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  10. Thank you for the new word, Mary Lee. Your poem evokes a memory of time in an Eastchester NY classroom and the sudden onset of snow. The teacher implored the students to come to the window to observe the beauty of the falling snow. They all responded, bar one small boy who called out- ‘Don’t go, she’ll make you write about it!’

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