And It Doesn’t Even Rhyme
Well, look who’s especially chatty today? Wouldn’t have anything to do with her mind racing over this due date business would it? Nah – she always spends her lunch hour at work obsessively reorganizing her desk drawers and wiping down every exposed surface with antibacterial cleaning spray. Cleanliness is next to Batshit-Craziness!
I can’t believe I ignored all the awesome nesting opportunities at work until now.
I just wanted to share a little something with you, Internet: April is National Poetry Month, and every year at my office, the Library staff hosts a lunchtime poetry reading (which I will miss because it’s on April 30th, and BY GOD I will be on maternity leave by then), and they also post a different poem every day to their internal website. Anyone can suggest a poem to be posted, so yesterday I sent in one of my favorites. It should be noted that I LOST MY SHIT when I re-read this poem yesterday before sending it in, and RE-LOST my shit today upon seeing it posted on the site.
But before I share it, a disclaimer: I am not a Poetry Person. Frankly, I don’t get it. I definitely can’t write it, and I don’t especially enjoy reading it. There are a precious few exceptions:
1) The poem I’m about to share with you, which I saw on someone’s blog ages ago;
2) A poem a particularly brilliant and friend of mine and CFoST’s wrote that his parents printed and handed out at his funeral when he very suddenly passed away the year after we all graduated from college. (I read this poem for the workplace reading last year and, of course, TOTALLY LOST MY SHIT and then started sweating profusely in addition to fighting back tears because WHO likes to lose their shit in front of coworkers? No one. That’s who.)
3) Walt Whitman. Pretty much anything from Leaves of Grass. We had to read it in high school, and somehow I am able to GET his poems in a way that totally escapes me when I try to read other stuff.
Also, he looked like Santa. Bonus.
So here’s the poem I submitted this year. I am not a very religious person at all, but something about this poem totally encapsulates what I like to think God is all about (and, incidentally, what I feel is missing from most organized religion). I still don’t know how I’m going to broach the topic of religion with Spats, but if I can somehow communicate the spirit of this poem to her, I feel like everything will be OK:
God Says Yes To Me
by: Kaylin Haught
I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I am telling you is
Yes yes yes
Now, Internet, I’d like to invite you to share some of YOUR favorite poems. Show me that there are more than three poems in the world that I might like! Share something you wrote yourself! Or just throw a dirty limerick in the comments, I don’t care. KEEP ME OCCUPIED, INTERNET! Because I am this close to researching Walt Whitman’s sexual orientation on Wikipedia, seeing as how my high school English teacher wouldn’t offer any conjecture either way.
Is a Santa lookalike AND geigh? No wonder he’s so awesome.
Entry filed under: And you KNOW THIS!.