Poetry, the right poetry, is like a cold glass of milk– refreshing and familiar, even if you haven’t had that *exact* one yet.
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Jay and I are both stressed by our current house project, and yesterday he asked me to pick up some more chocolate for him while I was grocery shopping. He’s been though quite a bit already during this project.
I got him a big bag of mini-bars.
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Today, as soon as the boy was down and Jay was reading to the girls, I left the house and returned to our closing bookstore. 25%-off sometimes beats the Amazon prices, and the times it doesn’t, the instant gratification of a fresh book in-hand is worth the extra $2.
I came home with Snow for Natasha’s Birthday, Inkspell, and Poem a Day. This last was the thing I didn’t know I would buy before I went. I was just browsing, enjoying my hour to myself, and came across this title. I didn’t even look at it much before I wanted to bring it home. The experience was very like how I felt on the way home from New Mexico, 3 years ago, when I bought Good Poems in an airport’s bookstore.
When I was showing/explaining the purchases to Jay, I said, “Gift, sequel, *my* chocolate.”
That instant was the first connection I made between our coping mechanisms. “Come to think of it…” I was feeling pretty crummy in that airport too– with a tired 1-year-old, and me being pregnant, tired, and annoyed with somebody– and the book of the hour was one of poems. Continue reading