Another one from a Poetry Super Highway National Poetry Month free-writing prompt
It was Trapper Keepers
and binders, the smell
of vinyl, paper, and chalk,
how the window sounded
cracked open, because
September can still be
warm. And whenever I
heard that sound (it must
have been birdsong and the
distant threading of buses)
that was the school sound.
The exciting sound. The
sound of surprise and yet
stability, where my mother
taught children to read. And
when I sensed the change
to fresher and cooler days
tempered with hints of summer,
I thought of being littler,
the way I would put my head
on my mother’s lap, syncing
my breath to hers. Inhaling
the same air as someone
I loved. And I wish sometimes
I could do that again, sink
back into the pounding heart
of my mother, of the planet,
reconnect (they are one)
with all she has to teach me—
because I do think she is
teaching me something right
now. That I have a poem
somewhere in this piece,
and school and my mother
and this good earth had something
very much in common. They were
grounded. They were safe. And they
were full of spirits we all wish we
could have back again: something
loving, learning, and softer.
Something we can hold on tight to.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright April 29, 2024, all rights reserved
