A Poem for Your Pocket

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A Poem for Your Pocket

Here’s a poem for your pocket.
Or it might be for your shoe.
You could tuck it in a mitten.
Any secret place will do.

You could hide it in your hat
or stuff it up your sleeve.
You can cram it in your backpack.
Please just take it when you leave.

It’s a small and smudged reminder
of something you should know—
I will always love you
no matter where you go.

 

I hope you’ll forgive me for the cheesy mom poem. I can’t help it. I am a mom and I guess that’s going to slip out occasionally. I should add that I wrote the original draft of this poem when my daughter was in kindergarden. She’s now graduating from 8th grade so perhaps I’m feeling a bit nostalgic.

This is the only poem this month that I didn’t write from scratch. (I did revise it substantially.) It’s been a great month. I’ve enjoyed writing every day (for the most part). For those of you who have followed along and commented or “liked” my poems on Facebook, thank you! It’s not easy writing and posting for 30 days in a row and I couldn’t have done it without you. Happy National Poetry Month!

Liz

©Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015

The Globe

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The Globe

I spin the globe
with my fingertips,
reading wrinkled
mountain ranges
like a person reading braille.
I find the spot
that means home
and try to imagine it
on a real-sized planet
swooping through endless darkness,
part of a massive solar system,
and the thought
feels too big
to fit
in my head.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015

The Binder and the Piece of Paper: A Dialogue

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The Binder and the Piece of Paper: A Dialogue

I am a binder—
loyal and true.
I keep loose leaf papers
looking like new.

I won’t go in there.
Rings aren’t for me.
I hope I get lost.
I want to be free.

Free papers fly,
then they get tossed.
The depths of a bag
is where you’ll get lost.

I want to be useful,
my words should be read,
but the snap of your teeth
fills me with dread.

I swear it won’t hurt.
Quick! The day’s over soon!
With me you’ll be safe
(at least until June).

 

© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015

Folder

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Folder,
paper holder,
never let a letter
slip from place in your crisp cardboard
embrace.

 

Yes, I wrote a cinquain about a folder.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015

Dear Desk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Desk

What do you do on Sundays?
Do you miss me?
Do you miss the busy clatter of our class?
Do you wish I was there
scooting in, scooting out,
my knees tickling you
under your chin?
Or do you spend your Sundays listening
to the humming night-sounds
of school,
remembering the years
you lived in the woods
a friend of sky
and birds?

A poem of address to the desk. What would you want to say to your desk?

© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015