Poetry Wednesday, Vol. 59

I am sitting in the lovely little Osage Beach Public Library tapping away at my computer, watching the girls perch on brightly colored bean bags while they catch up on some graphic novels this library owns that are not at our library back home. They have an Asterix and Obelix comic, I’m not sure how, since the entire children’s book collection is smaller than the library we have in our very own home, but there is one, and the girls are reading it cover to cover. Mike and the boys have dropped us off and are heading to Wally-land to buy fishing licences and worms (so cute! says Del) and all the necessities for a picnic tomorrow at a state park.

We are on vacation. It has been wonderful and restful and relaxing and annoying all at once. Did you know that when you take your kids on vacation with you, it becomes difficult to read all the books you brought with you too? Don’t worry, I have managed. Two down, two to go. Did you know that their idea of restful is entirely different from your idea? Nap?! What! NO!

It has been lovely, though. Mike’s parents accompanied us for the first weekend and we mini-golfed, rode on boats, swam and packed a week’s worth of fun into two and a half days. All we have to do now is rest. And rest we will.

I’ve been reading Anne Porter, and she is not really a light hearted, vacation type of poet. You really should read her poem, My Anastasia, it is beautiful. So my choice will not match the mood exactly, but here goes.

A Song of Fear and Fire

Anne Porter

If when I die
Instead of going off to Purgatory
As I hope to do
I have become a tiny flake of ash
Still glowing with the spark
Of life you gave me

And if I’m tossed
Into a fearful nothingness
Beyond the stars
There to go whirling
Whirling round
Until my fire goes out

Until my fire goes out
I still will praise you.

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