Today was a snow day for Pacelli, Walnut and St. X. Cincinnatians freak out about snow. They called it "Snow Death" on the news, which really ticked Dad off because he grew up on a farm in NE Ohio near PA and he experienced serious snow. Hillsdale would not give this snow a second thought, but people here in town go to the store and buy enough food to last them the winter. It's a little funny.
Need to get back to packing. Dad and I just got home from visiting my aunt at the hospital. Back to school tomorrow. I can't believe it! I feel like I just got home, only more rested. Heidi is sitting on everything clean. Supposed to see Beslini again tonight, but she lives a little far to drive in this weather. I have a Waugh short story I want to finish reading too, and some more edits to more finish. Let's not immanentize the eschaton, here! Kate and I are leaving at 8 am-ish (too early). My last formal Rush starts Saturday. I'm officially a second semester senior once I pay off my library fines from last semester. Yeah!
I'm thinking about dubbing Thursday as poetry sharing day. (Lame title, I know. I'll think of a better one soon, promises.) Not that other days won't necessarily have it, but Thursday will be set aside and dedicated mostly to iambic pentameter and otherwise this semester. To kick it off, I'll share two I read recently:
"Guinea Pig" by Julie Cadwallader-Staub
As if your cancer weren't enough,
the guinea pig is dying.
The kids brought him to me
wrapped in a bath towel
‘Do something, Mom.
Save his life.'
I'm a good mom.
I took time from work,
drove him to the vet,
paid $77.00 for his antibiotics.
Now, after the kids rush off to school,
you and I sit on the bed.
I hold the guinea pig, since he bites.
You fill the syringe.
We administer the foul smelling medicine,
hoping the little fellow will live.
admitting to each other:
if he doesn't,
it'll be good practice.
"Looking at Pictures to Be Put Away" by Gary Snyder
Who was this girl
In her white night gown
Clutching a pair of jeans
On a foggy redwood deck.
She looks up at me tender,
What will we remember
Bodied thick with food and lovers
After twenty years.