Poetry Wednesday, Vol 35

Today I'm going to phone it in.
I had a poem and a post and some neat things rattling around in my head, but then we got sick.
It started with a cough and a fever and a runny, goopy nose for Josie.
Then everyone came down with it.
Last night was a long night of running bowls and garbage cans to heaving children, dosing them with fever reducer and tea.
Lois - I think sensing that things were strange - was up every ten minutes. Or at least it felt that way.

Poor Deli slept with us, we only had to hold a bowl under him a couple times. Although he would refuse to lean over and spit things in the bowl, choosing instead to chew and swallow it all down. Gross. I'm glad he slept on Mike's side.

It is ending (hopefully) with this::



Some tea to sip, a bowl to vomit and a gun, well, because don't all little boys need guns?

I have a feeling today will be full of cartoons, Boxcar Children and my favorite,
the picture below.

So all that to let you know that the post I had planned and the poem I had planned will not happen.

Here is another poem that I read just today and found to speak quite eloquently to how my Lent has been.
It has nothing to do with the above pictures.


Lachrimae Amantis
Geoffrey Hill

What is there in my heart that you should sue
so fiercely for its love? What kind of care
brings you as though a stranger to my door
through the long night and in the icy dew

seeking the heart that will not harbor you,
that keeps itself religiously secure?
At this dark solstice filled with frost and fire
your passion's ancient wounds must bleed anew.

So many nights the angel of my house
has fed such urgent comfort through a dream,
whispered "your lord is coming, he is close"

that I have drowsed half-faithful for a time
bathed in pure tones of promise and remorse:
"tomorrow I shall wake to welcome him."