Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Friday last week I had the privilege of joining a number of other artists and musicians in providing a day of fun called “Everybody Grows.” The premise is to give teachers an opportunity to plan for 3 hours while their students participate in art activities provided by the Arts Council teaching artists.
I taught 3 different second grade classes in the morning and 4th grade in the afternoon. In my activity, the kids composed a fall poem and then chalked it outside on the playground. By 3:00, I was zapped and not happy that the earlier fall temperatures had risen to a very warm 85 degrees, but I persevered.
Fall Chalkabration
As I was leaving, tired, hot, dehydrated, and wondering if what I did was as valuable as banging on drums or doing a torn paper collage, our director Bree said to me, “You don’t know where you may have sparked a child’s interest in poetry.”
We don’t know what seed we have planted with kids. And it may not have been the flower I was expecting to grow.
I did the same writing activity with my grandchildren on Saturday. These seeds I will be able to watch as they grow.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Today is the National Day on Writing sponsored by NCTE and the National Writing Project as part of Write Out. I wrote a quick tricube-image poem. Why do you write?
Photo is Devil’s Pond sunrise in City Park, New Iberia, LA.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My neighbor Svitlana is an animal whisperer. You know them. They just have a way with animals. Animals in need seem to gravitate to her. In September I saw her while I was out walking, and she told me about a neighborhood cat that had kittens in a planter box. She was feeding the momma and watching out for the four babies.
I told my husband Jeff about it and kind of asked/ told him I wanted to take in one of the kittens. We already have two cats outdoors, Fancy and Wally. We’ve sworn off having any more indoor cats. But this litter was born outside. They would be naturally outside cats.
Last Sunday I went by to meet the kittens. They were quite skittish and following the mother cat who was slowly weaning them. Svitlana was feeding the kittens a mixture of pate and dry food. Svitlana with all her skills was not able to catch any kitten for me to take home. She and the momma cat were both having trouble letting them go.
On Tuesday evening, I was outside feeding Fancy and Wally when I heard mewing coming from our shed. It was definitely a kitten mew. I called Svitlana. She came running over.
Apparently on Monday night two of the kittens had wandered. One returned, but one was missing. She had worried all night long about this baby. She came prepared with a can of cat food, salmon flavored with a high stink value.
Sure enough, little Mishka was in our shed. She found us! I exclaimed. Svitlana brought the momma cat over to see her baby while I set up our back porch with a litter box. We placed little Mishka in a crate, and she was happily purring. Mishka is the name that Svitlana was calling her. It’s a term of endearment in Russian meaning “little bear.” Svitlana is Ukrainian.
Mommy checks on baby who found her way to our shed.
Since last week was the celebration of St. Frances, I took her to church to be blessed by Madre Annie.
Madre Annie blesses Mishka.
I took her to our vet on Monday. She is 3.5 lbs and healthy, approximately 10 weeks old. She will live on the “cat-io” for another month or so before I let her out into the wild. Mishka has found a soft place to land.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Moon Morning
As I walk the old neighborhood, I note the changes— the roses that Betty tended are not in bloom, the tall house sold; young children live there now, toys strewn across the lawn. Clyde would love knowing them.
Lynn stops me as I pass. ”Do you know me?” He asks. I can’t recall, but we talk anyway.
The moon hangs on to the morning, losing its full, returning to new.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me in writing to a photo each week on Substack.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Sunday, a gathering of three women poets in the Bayou Teche Museum drew a small, yet reasonable crowd. I knew when I planned the poetry reading that it wouldn’t be everyone’s favorite vegetable, so I was pleased that the 30 chairs were nearly all full.
After I read, I introduced Liz Burk. Liz and I met on the dance floor; her husband and mine both enjoy going out for Cajun dancing. We’ve run into each other for years and maybe because we are both poets, we had a strong connection, seeking each other out to sit together. One of the joys of retirement is having lunch with a friend. At one of our lunch dates, Liz said to me, “I’d love to read in New Iberia. I’ve never read there.”
I set it up with the curator of the Bayou Teche Museum, and we decided to invite a third poet, Ava Leavell Haymon. We both knew and loved her. Ava, who was Poet Laureate of Louisiana from 2013-2015, lives in Houston now, so we were very excited that she agreed to come.
Liz Burk, Ava Leavell Haymon, and me, Margaret Simon
Liz, who is a transplant from New York to Louisiana, writes a lot of poems about “Learning to Love Louisiana.” Her poems are real, romantic, and witty. Today I am sharing one that was published by One Art Poetry in 2025.
Shards of Light
I have lunch with a younger friend whose beard is turning to iron— in compensation, his ponytail grows longer. We talk and I wonder if he had ever desired me. I try to keep such narcissistic preoccupations tucked away from my awareness,
but they glow now in the dim light of this restaurant at noon, that murky gray of a rainy day, shards of light streaking oblique and harsh through unwashed windows, turning everything ashen and pasty.
The young waitress sashays back and forth, appears to flaunt her lithe body while I sit lumpy on the booth banquette. I’ve lost height from what used to be my waistline up— the spine undoubtedly collapsing— it feels like the table between us is at the level of my chin. I squelch the urge to ask for a booster seat.
I turn my attention back to my friend, listen as he recounts his adventures traversing the country solo in his new minivan, realize his true desire lies in his need to tell me his stories. As for my need to feel desired, I’m hoping that tiresome burden will diminish with age— will it bring mourning or relief?
Elizabeth Burk
Ava read from three of her collections. With Halloween just around the corner, she shared a poem from her book “Why the House is Made of Gingerbread” in which she embodies a character, a woman named Gretel, who takes on the fairy tale as her own childhood story.
It was selected by Lemony Snicket to be included in “Poetry Not Written for Children that Children Might Nevertheless Enjoy.”
The Witch Has Told You a Story BY AVA LEAVELL HAYMON
You are food. You are here for me to eat. Fatten up, and I will like you better.
Your brother will be first, you must wait your turn. Feed him yourself, you will learn to do it. You will take him
eggs with yellow sauce, muffins torn apart and leaking butter, fried meats late in the morning, and always sweets in a sticky parade from the kitchen.
The poetry reading was a highlight for me. Our three styles of writing are as different as three kittens in a mixed litter, but we each have a passion for the poetic form. When asked if this was the first in a series of poetry readings, I responded, “No!” There are just some things that should happen just once.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I follow Pádraig ÓTuama and receive his weekly newsletter on Substack.
This week he wrote about monostitch poems, which are written with one line. His example was a poem by Rafiq Kathwari. There can be much said in a single line when each word is measured and carries weight.
As usual, Pádraig invited his audience to try it and share in the comments. I read through many of them, but this one stood out to me.
When the candle of your best intentions has gone out,
there will be matches in the drawer.
Deborah Cooper
Matches in the drawer
This is my response:
Introducing myself to the hospice nurse,
I hear my mother say my name for the last time.
Margaret Simon, draft
Next month I will be participating in a Walk for Alzheimer’s. Please consider a donation to the cause that is still so close to my heart.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A week ago today was my 65th birthday. Normally, when I was teaching, my August birthday fell on one of the first days of school, so finding time to celebrate was not a high priority. But this year, I am retired. With no school year to plan, I decided to give myself a birthday party. Or rather, I asked my friends to bring the party with them.
I created the invitation in Canva and sent it by text to about 25 of my favorite women.
All I provided was water and iced mint tea, a platter of fruit, and chocolate chip cookies my husband insisted on buying. (He wanted to buy a cake.) Each guest arrived with something fun to eat.
The spread!
My friend Susan asked if she could provide the music. She played her harp in my entryway.
I should have had name tags because not everyone knew each other. There was lots of conversation. I didn’t stop smiling for the full two hours. I was surrounded by feminine energy (the best kind) and women who love me and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.
I’m currently looking at my kitchen table full of cards and gifts that bring joy. Not only did these women make tasty party food, they also know how to give gifts with meaning and heart. I only wish I could’ve had all of you, my Slicing friends, too.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I’m home. Albert is snuggling on my lap, and I am deeply satisfied from the first ever Inklings writing retreat.
Back in 2014, the Two Writing Teachers team worked to organize writing groups among the Slicers. The one I was placed into never got off the ground, but at NCTE, Melanie Meehan invited me to join her group. The only two members from the original group are me and Catherine Flynn. Catherine and I were most interested in writing poetry, so we sought out poets from the blogging world who shared our passion. Eventually we landed on a stable core of 6 poets, Linda Mitchell, Heidi Mordhorst, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Catherine and me.
As the years went on, we met twice monthly on Zoom (or whatever was working) and saw each other at NCTE or on vacation; however, we’ve never been all together in one place. We talked about it for years. This year we began planning in January when Heidi announced she was moving to London. She offered to host us all at her writing studio, WhisperShout, in Maryland.
WhisperShout studio
I’m still amazed at the logistical miracle. Accommodations from Heidi’s neighbors, food, field trips, flights (I was the only one who flew), desserts, and a colorful spreadsheet.
We took a field trip on Friday to Planet Word. If you are ever in D.C., you must go!
Inklings: Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Margaret Simon, Linda Mitchell, Heidi Mordhorst, and Catherine Flynn.
On Saturday, we joined Laura Shovan’s writing retreat in Clarksville, Maryland. I had a comfortable writing spot on her back patio.
Writing in Laura’s Secret Garden. I wish you could hear the birds singing and see the butterflies.
On Sunday, we walked to a neighborhood farm.
And in between meals and field trips, we gathered in the studio and wrote together. When you meet a group of people virtually, you never really know how face to face with each other will be. Maybe because we’ve waited for this for so long. Maybe because we are all teachers and poets. Maybe because we are all of a similar age. Who knows why and I don’t care to question it, really, but these are my peeps. I’ll love you forever!
Black belly whistling ducks gather at the nesting box.
We’ve been waiting for a clutch of black bellied whistling ducks to hatch from our wood duck house. After the hatching in June, Jeff cleaned out the house. I requested that he leave it open in case we would get another mother. You leave it, they will come. And sure enough on June 24 or so, the new mother began sitting.
On Sunday, I noticed the little bee patterned babies hatching in the house. (We use a Ring doorbell camera, so we can watch from the phone.) On Monday morning, I opened the app to watch the baby ducklings climb up and jump out. Similar to wood ducks, the whistlers also jump 24 hours after hatching.
Unfortunately, the camera stopped recording. Low battery. We have a solar panel that charges the battery and Jeff supposed that since the trees are full, the panel doesn’t get as much light. What a time for the battery to fail!
After my coffee, I perched outside to watch the Jump Day festivities.
The whistlers gather around. There were four of them whistling and carrying on. I waited.
While I waited a beautiful blue heron flew by.
Great blue heron flying over the bayou.
Finally, one of the ducklings jumped out. Let’s call him Eager. The mother soon followed and more babies jumped. I counted seven total.
Interestingly, the mother and father ducks chased off the other whistlers that had gathered. The couple alone led the ducklings.
Mother and Father whistling ducks look for safety for their brood.
Eager, the little rogue, jumped in and paddled off on his own. Father went after him.
Eager duckling swims away from his family.
I’m afraid that was my signal to go inside and let nature do as nature does. I don’t know if Eager was reunited with his family, but for the sake of a happy ending, let’s say he was.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
