My mother still sends cards and letters, so I'm always thrilled to catch a glimpse of her handwriting waiting for me in the mailbox. Barbara Hamby knows just how I feel.
Ode on My Mother's Handwriting
by Barbara Hamby
Her a's are like small rolls warm from the oven, yeasty,
fragrant, one identical to the other, molded
by a master baker, serious about her craft, but comical, too,
smudge of flour on her sharp nose, laughing
with her workers, urging them to eat, eat, eat, but demanding
the most gorgeous cakes in Christendom.
Her b's are upright as soldiers trained by harsh sergeants,
whose invective seems cruel in the bower of one's
own country but becomes hot gruel and a wool coat
during January on the steppes outside Moscow.
Read the poem in its entirety. (You can also listen to Garrison Keilor read it!)
Week 4 of National Poetry Month continued with the following poetry in the classroom posts.
22 - Concrete PoetryThe round up is being hosted by Tabatha Yeatts of The Opposite of Indifference. Do take some time to enjoy all the terrific posts this week. Before you go, be sure to check out this week's poetry stretch results. Happy poetry Friday all!
23 - In the Big City
24 - Spanish/English Poetry
25 - America in Poems
26 - Just Jazz! (Musical Poetry, Part 1)
27 - More Music! (Musical Poetry, Part 2)
28 - Diggin' On Dinosaurs