For my first day of "Poem Conversations" to celebrate National Poetry Month, I asked my mom if I could send her a poem, and she’d send me her thoughts. She agreed.

Truthfully, I don’t consider my mom a poetry dolt. One of my earliest memories comes from when I was around three years old and my mom was in college. She took me with her one day to English class. I remember nothing about the class, except that everyone but me was quiet and listening to this person at the front talk about a poem or a story, or something I didn’t understand. WORDS, it was words. It was almost like church. People were reverent. (Or maybe they were asleep, but I was three. It seemed like church.) (And Mom, if it wasn’t actually an English class, don’t tell me. I like thinking it was that early exposure that primed the pump for me to become a writer, and I’m pretty sure it was an English class even if you don’t remember it as such.)

Anyway, my mom loves to read fiction. She just doesn’t read that much poetry, unless it’s mine. (I’m willing to bet the money in my purse that if you asked her who her favorite poet is, she’d either say me or Carl Sandburg, and she probably hasn’t read Carl Sandburg in 20 years.)

I didn’t want to throw her a curve ball so I chose Mary Oliver, one of the more accessible contemporary poets. I couldn’t recall the exact poem I wanted to share but I knew there was something about coins in a purse. My mom used to periodically clean out her purse and whichever child guessed closest to the correct amount of change she found "won" the change. The poem, When Death Comes, has little to do with my memory of our guessing game, but as soon as I found it, I knew it was the one I wanted to share with Mom.

Here’s a bit for you:

When Death Comes
by Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

You can must read the rest here.

My mom said her favorite part was:

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

Hmm. To tell you the truth, I was a little surprised that was her favorite part. My mom is a dreamer, just like me. I took her more for the type to hone in on these lines found later in the poem . . .

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom taking the world into my arms.

. . . you know, all that live life to the fullest, dream big dreams hubris she has passed on to my heart from hers.
But no, it was the part about the cottage of darkness that drew her in.

Full of surprises, that woman.

She explained herself:

I can remember as a child being fearful of death; afraid that I would die and leave Mama or afraid that she would die and leave me. However, now, with so many loved ones having already died, I am looking forward to "what it’s going to be like." The wonder of it excites me now.

I guess for someone who has embraced life to the fullest, it’s not that difficult to embrace the thought of death. That’s my mom.

I just got a second note from her (evidence the poem stuck with her and she’s still mulling over it. Hooray for poetry that sticks!)

She said:

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I also loved this part.

When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

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I hope (and pray) that when I am gone . . . I haven’t simply visited this world without leaving pieces of me behind.

Not to worry, Mom. There are pieces of you — who you are, who you’ve shaped us to be — that will outlive us both.

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I can hardly contain myself. Tomorrow begins National Poetry Month.

A whole Nation celebrating poetry. For thirty whole days.

Okay, let’s be realistic. Does the whole nation know about this? Or this? Have they even seen this?

Perhaps not. How many of us are actually reading poetry anyway? (Well, not how many of us here at LJ. Of course not. I’m preaching to the choir here.)

What is it about the word Poetry that strikes fear in the heart of the average American? Are we afraid we won’t understand it? Or maybe we’re afraid we’ll MISunderstand it and look like a fool?

Can we do something about that? Can we get the people who don’t think they like poetry to read it? Maybe. If we try. So for Poetry Month this year, I’m sending one poem a day to one carefully chosen person a day. My list isn’t complete but I’ll choose a person with whom I have a relationship and then choose a poem I think they would enjoy . . . even if they don’t think they’d enjoy poetry. For me this year, it’s all about engaging with people over poetry, and not with the usual suspects.

Call it my own personal poetry crusade. I’ll share some of the poems here. And I’ll let you know what the response is. 🙂

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I told you all the other week that my husband showed up at home with a dog, right? A stray from the university that had been hanging around the snack bar and begging food to make it in this world. Well, after a trip to the vet and a few tests, she’s been given a clean bill of health and has been with us for the last couple of weeks. She’s happy and healthy and just tail-wagging glad to have a family.

And she’s already made friends. 🙂

A hardcover. In my very own hands!

lurban shared it the other day. It’s been on my Facebook. Penguin Putnam favorited it on their You tube page. So it’s out there and if you haven’t seen it yet, I want you to. And if you’ve already seen it, I hope you’re not tired of it and are willing to indulge me, because I don’t think I’m going to get tired of it. Ever. 🙂

The book trailer for my soon-to-be-out-there picture book with Philomel, illustrated by Christopher Denise, edited by Patricia Gauch:

lurban and I had a little convo the other day about picture book illustrations and she’s dishing over here. She also shares a link/preview to something exciting and dear to my heart. Thought you might want to check it out for yourself …

1. We adopted a mutt yesterday. A truly homeless dog that was living at the university. Took her straight to the vet where she spent the night and was checked out and now she is ours. Her name is Pepper. She and I both are still adjusting.

2. Pan-fried tilapia for dinner with steamed veggies. Very soon.

3. We (my older sister and I) bought my mom and stepfather a Wii Fit for their birthdays. I’m looking forward to trying it while in the US. Anyone love or hate it? The thing actually weighs you when you step on it? Eep.

4. The monkeys outside our window have not been to visit in two weeks. 😦

5. Scheduled three book events so far for late summer/early fall. Who lives near Greenville, SC or Asheville, NC?

6. It’s been close to 100F here for the past few days and yesterday it finally rained and cooled just a notch or two. I may actually sleep tonight.

I am a terrible shopper. I love the idea of shopping, but I have the stamina of a small mouse in a crowd of steel-toe-booted construction workers. IF I am with a friend who is in need of something specific and whose conversation can buffer the chaos going on around me and I can be on MISSION to find that perfect pair of black pants or that not-quite-cream, not-quite-khaki satin blouse she’s on the hunt for, then I can hang in for a bit longer than if I’m alone.

Even as I type that out, I shake my head in disbelief. How can anyone not enjoy shopping? If you were to ask me if I enjoy shopping and you were to give me money to spend, I’d immediately say YES! I want to go now. And then I would get to the mall, and the crowds would be loud, and I’d get an upset stomach and a sniffly nose, both of which I attribute to the dyes in clothes, and then I’d be ready to leave at least within the hour. Usually within twenty minutes. (annemariepace can attest to my mild panic attacks about shopping. She once took me to a mall to look for a book after a writer’s conference. I got light-headed and dizzy. At the time I blamed it on being overwhelmed with all there is to buy in the US as opposed to Brazil, but the truth is, I do it here too sometimes.)

I don’t enjoy the grocery store for many of the same reasons. Too many people. Too many choices. I don’t want to have to wait in line. By the time I get to the front, I will have talked myself out of buying half of what I put in my cart. (I waited in line for 45 minutes the other day to buy eggs. Just eggs. In that 45 minutes I removed a diet coke, a pair of exercise pants and something else that I forget from my cart. AND this was in a store that had 30 checkout counters, but only 15 or so were open.) I understand now why people buy everything — even their groceries — online. Ahhh, so much easier. Less chaos. But not possible for me here in Brazil.

So, today is grocery day. We must eat, so therefore I must buy groceries. I’m gearing myself up for it. Mentally preparing. Making a list of the things that must stay in my grocery cart. Wish me luck. And short lines.