For a Five Year Old

I trust you! The snail trusts you.

I trust you!
The snail trusts you.

For a Five-Year-Old
by Fleur Adcock

A snail is climbing up the window-sill
into your room, after a night of rain.
You call me in to see and I explain
that it would be unkind to leave it there:
it might crawl to the floor; we must take care
that no one squashes it. You understand,
and carry it outside, with careful hand,
to eat a daffodil.

I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:
your gentleness is moulded still by words
from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,
from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed
your closest relatives and who purveyed
the harshest kind of truth to many another,
But that is how things are: I am your mother,
And we are kind to snails.

“For a Five-Year-Old” by Fleur Adcock, from Poems 1960-2000. © Bloodaxe Books, 2000. Reprinted with permission.

Dementia Floor From Heaven

Bob Singing and Dancing @the Dementia Floor

Bob has gotten used to the Dementia Floor:
fresh basil
sunshine on the patio
opening Birthday gifts under the umbrella
radio in his private room
with private bath
window on the world
friends: staff and patients
kindness all around
“Life is just a bowl of cherries”!

The Illustrator’s Resolve

HA Ray's  Famous Curious George

H A Rey’s
Famous Curious George

To escape persecution, as a Jew, Hans Augusto Rey and his wife, Margaret, had to escape Paris just before the German occupation in 1940. Hans created 2 bicycles to use to cycle to safety, fleeing with his monkey drawings and his life. Later the Curious George books were published in New York, and Hans was listed as illustrator, and Margaret as story writer.

Folio your gems:
Cycle them to freedom’s press:
c u r i o s i t y!


Grandma's Can't Keep Them on the Lap

Grandma’s Can’t Keep Them on the Lap

by Olivia Stiffler

They disappear with friends
near age 11. We lose them
to baseball and tennis, garage
bands, slumber parties, stages
where they rehearse for the future,
ripen in a tangle of love knots.
With our artificial knees and hips
we move into the back seats
of their lives, obscure as dust
behind our wrinkles, and sigh
as we add the loss of them
to our growing list of the missing.

Sometimes they come back,
carting memories of sugar cookies
and sandy beaches, memories of how
we sided with them in their wars
with parents, sided with them
even as they slid out of our laps
into the arms of others.

Sometimes they come back
and hold onto our hands
as if they were the thin strings
of helium balloons
about to drift off.

“Grandchildren” by Olivia Stiffler, from Otherwise, We Are Safe. © Dos Madres Press, 2013. Reprinted with permission by the Poetry Almanac for Sept. 16, 2014

Let It Go

My Mom Marge Arthen DeLoca 40 years ago

My Mom
Marge Arthen DeLoca
40 years ago

Dana, some 3 years later:
My Cousin Dana @ 3 years old

My Cousin Dana
@ 3 years old

Dana at 2 years old with her cousins:
Dana, Peter, Lauren and Quenby

Dana, Peter, Lauren and Quenby

My Mom released her
grasp-God’s grace took hold in each:
Grand new diadems!


Woo Hoo!

Thank you Hanna Anderson for the GIF.

Who knew forgiveness
is a transformation?
unclasp-let it go!

You Are Invited!


Blurb is gathering her independent book publishers
at the Makeshift Society
on Hope Avenue
in the newly renovated downtown Brooklyn.

I can’t resist.
Am booked at the Marriott on the way South.
Wish you could come!

Witness the rebirth!

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