Monday poem: Cecilia Woloch

A quick 2 weeks later and I'm back in South Florida and at "work" once again. The trip, which I'll post about in more illustrated detail this week, was fantastic and the Siblings 3 (me, my sister Amy, and little brother Mikey) traveled very well together and had a great time exploring the UK.

Our vacation also returned me to a perfect place to react to the following piece by Cecilia Woloch, who is a poet that until this morning I knew nothing about. The title made me immediately recall an exercise in my middle school algebra class where we were given xeroxed images of traffic signs and asked to think about what they mean, and the ways in which so many signs all around us really mean or don't mean so many things. And in that way, the delicate balance of perception and perspective, a journey to a new place is the perfect way to reset my life back on what is actually worthwhile.

Cecilia Woloch | Slow Children at Play

All the quick children have gone inside, called
by their mothers to hurry-up-wash-your-hands
honey-dinner’s-getting-cold, just-wait-till-your-father-gets-home-
and only the slow children out on the lawns, marking off
paths between fireflies, making soft little sounds with their mouths, ohs
that glow and go out and glow. And their slow mothers flickering,
pale in the dusk, watching them turn in the gentle air, watching them
twirling, their arms spread wide, thinking, These are my children, thinking
Where is their dinner? Where has their father gone?

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Comments (1)

We just found out my husband has to go back to Iraq for a 2nd tour. This poem really hit home for me.

Thanks for posting.

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