Three Roses

were brought to me yesterday. A pink, a yellow, a pale orange--all in a lovely purplish vase and hanging out now on my mantle just beneath the sand painting of a girl foolishly hungover on song or something like that. Anyway, the flowers were brought to me by my Wednesday morning poetry crew ages 6-13. They are some of the smartest, most self-possessed, well-mannered but wildly imaginative people that I know. I gave them all image notebooks with Rilke quotes from "Letters to a Young Poet". Because they are that amazing and they will record their images, because they don't fail themselves in their goals the way adults do. This week's lesson: be more like A, A, G, M & Q. (The names are awesome, too.)

We are having a reading in December. With invitations, chapbooks and broadsides and some of that pineapple cardamon bread I sent home with them yesterday. With chairs gathered (can I find enough?!?!) in the Zelda room.

Because we are this week (we six young poets) working on some poems that we have labeled The Gratitudes, and I am working on mine on my early graduation gift that has two nicknames, one of which is The Gizmo and is the world's greatest clutch purse of a keyboard (the envy of all) and serves to remind me what I am grateful for and what I am grateful for regardless. Certain things you thank for happening at all much less to you. In honor of all types of gratitude and every type of Gratitudes I post this for you:

POEM 655 (circa 1862)

Without this— there is nought—
All other Riches be
As is the Twitter of a Bird—
Heard opposite the Sea—

I could not care— to gain
A lesser than the Whole—
For did not this include themself—
As Seams— include the Ball?

I wished a way might be
My Heart to subdivide—
'Twould magnify— the Gratitude—
And not reduce— the Gold
Emily Dickinson