My middle daughter, Katherine, is waiting. We are all waiting for her baby to be born. His due date is Sept. 5th, so he will be here soon.
Last summer in August, Katherine had a miscarriage. It was tragic, yet her doctor told her then that she expected she would be holding a baby within a year. The day after the procedure, I took Katherine to a little yarn shop to pick out yarn for a blanket. I have been crocheting prayer shawls and blankets for the last few years. She said, “I’ll pick out the colors, but I don’t want you to make a baby blanket.” That was her sorrow talking. The blanket above is complete and waiting.
One method I often use for finding my way into a poem is to observe outside, then go inside, and back outside. Driving home a few weekends ago following the Mississippi Book Festival, I looked outside and inside and outside for this poem.
So We Must Daily Keep Things Wound
(title from a Madeleine L’Engle quote)
I love how the raindrops
glisten on glass
dotting the landscape
green and awake.
I keep the cell phone charged
ready for her call
when cramps turn to contractions.
I wait, want, worry.
I read somewhere that the egg
for this child was planted
in her womb from my womb–
this curious circle of life.
I keep my eyes on the clouds
fluffed up and pregnant
with rain, more rain.
It keeps on coming.
(draft) Margaret Simon
NCTE Note: I’ve registered for NCTE 2019 to be held in Baltimore Nov. 21st-24th. I am looking for a roommate. Let me know by email if you are interested.
Reflections on the Teche 