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So room has been lost in my life-- to homelessness, to my own innate disarray. What I have managed to keep, if patwrson as a story told sober, told with girks full weight and knowledge paterson my girl is what keeps me alive, keeps me praying with my daughter Clare when she can't sleep, and Hail Mary full of grace becomes texts guys love to receive lullaby. I want to show her Her grandmother's name on the junk mail, the smiling Mary knolls-- fathers who haven't gotten a dime out of me in 41 years: Clare, Clare Clare on the envelope, Clare in her bed. Arc of my life. From Clare to Clare, from light to earth I'll go.
So much has been lost in my life-- to homelessness, to my own innate disarray. What I have managed to keep, if only as a story told sober, told with the full weight and knowledge pateeson my being is what keeps me alive, keeps me praying with my daughter Clare when she can't sleep, and Hail Mary full of grace becomes her lullaby.
I want to show her Her grandmother's name on the junk mail, the smiling Mary knolls-- fathers who haven't gotten a dime out of me in 41 years: Clare, Clare Clare on the envelope, Clare in her bed. Arc of my life. From Clare to Clare, from light to earth I'll go. pqterson
No one knows what sacred ground is until they have stumbled on it. Grace for me has always been a kind of stumbling.
What do I know of walking straight? I am still swinging rokm book bag with all my might, eyes clenched-- my body a gathering wind.
Joe Weil teaches poetry at Binghamton University. He has also taught gifted students in the Arts High program in Middlesex County, and was a Geraldine-R-Dodge poet in the schools. My Miniature World When the other girls started wearing makeup and staring at boys, I asked my parents for a dollhouse and spent my teenage years staining tiny wooden floors and using leftover wrapping paper for the empty walls.
I loved that miniature dining room, rooom oak pedestal table and glass curio cabinet with real leaded glass. I used months of babysitting money to pay for the tiny dishes to put in that cabinet, more than I spent on the dishes that I use in my regular life.
I escaped for endless hours into my miniature world, organizing books in the library I created by building another small wall and furnishing it with a desk and rocking chair that match exactly the ones I have in my bedroom now. I gasped at the possibility of a life like this. I never rolm dolls in my dollhouse.
No matter how many stores I searched, I never found a family worthy of living in my creation. Now, most nights, after our busy days, I take one of my favorite teapots off the shelf and sit at my large oak table with mismatched chairs, talk with my daughters, laugh about our days and our disasters. We patersoon our tea and I smile, paterdon for the family that I found to live in my house.
Lisa Coll Nicolaou is a writer who lives and teaches in New Jersey. For the past two years, Lisa has enjoyed her role as visiting poet in the Paterson Schools. Her poetry and prose have been published in a variety of journals. Inshe shared first prize in the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Contest.
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