you're a poet, and you don't know it...

last week i went to a conference about teaching writing workshop to children.

ralph fletcher, our speaker, had us write off his own poem "the good old days," borrowing the first and last stanzas. it was a great exercise, especially considering that while i love teaching poetry to children, i highly dislike reading and writing it.

we took the structure and just went.

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sometimes i remember

the good old days

traipsing across the snow

tearing into my auntie’s house

bearing trays of food to share

carrying shopping bags of presents

colorful wrapping to cover the secrets

kids telling them anyway

spending the day with cousins

friends who are family

eating until our shoulders are full

eight hours later

re-mummifying ourselves

trudging across the snow

passing out in the car

carried into the house

arising in our own beds

i still can’t imagine

anything Better than that