Yesterday’s pre-reading workshop was about death. This is the poem I wrote.
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Writing
Something my father wrote
Tomorrow would have been my father’s 88th birthday. The following is something he wrote in September 1998, apparently for one of the classes he was taking to get his massage therapist license. (Though he never did massage as anything other than a side gig—he was an attorney—he continued to take courses on subjects related to massage and healing until his health began to decline.) I have made a couple rounds of copy edits to fix small stuff and enhance readability.
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Dear Sunday…
Dear Sunday,
Welcome to the next chapter.
Love,
Kevin
(20 October 2019)
Dear Saturday…
Dear Saturday,
Morning sneezery. You know I hate it.
Love,
Kevin
(19 October 2019)
My version of late night shopping (a poem)
Among the things I’m looking to replace are the refrigerator and the living room furniture. I also figure I should get a carpet cleaner, so I can go at my own pace, rather than hiring somebody to do it and having to empty entire rooms all at once. (Not to mention that if I’m not going to replace the carpet right away, I should at least make sure it’s clean.)
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Dear Friday…
Dear Friday,
Two words: area rugs.
Love,
Kevin
(18 October 2019)
Dear Thursday…
Dear Thursday,
All this small stuff…
Love,
Kevin
(17 October 2019)
How to confuse your heart until it cannot decide whether or not it is broken (a poem)
Inspired by “How to run away from your own broken heart” by S. R. Mason (https://theadventureto-be.tumblr.com/post/188396010206/how-to-run-away-from-your-own-broken-heart). Continue reading
Dear Wednesday…
Dear Wednesday,
I’ve said this before. Not everything needs to have a “takeaway”…
Love,
Kevin
(16 October 2019)
Dear Tuesday…
Dear Tuesday,
Something about little details, blah blah blah…
Love,
Kevin
(15 October 2019)