It is National Poetry month for crying out loud. So I decided last night that I would select poetry for my son’s bedtime story. I let him flip randomly to the page (Rhapsodomancy) of the poem we would read. Kismet! There it is. All the magic one needs in a moment is a child’s hand and a poetry anthology. Magic is what we make it. But for me, magic is keeping the child alive inside us (no, I am not being trite or cliche here)…can you keep your openness? Can you nurture curiosity and hope even in the economic crisis or when bills are piled so high you can’t see straight? Yes, we can. Our youth rides in us forever.
Here is the magic he dug up for the evening– make of it what you will:
Poem– [untitled, from children at St. Mary’s Seminary in Swaziland] p. 296-298
I wish I had a big white bird which would fly up into
heaven and come back with good colored feathers
used by Angels of God.
I wish I had a pink monkey with eight tires and not legs.
I wish I will be a bed covered with brown paper like
a chimpanzee that drinks cocoa every day and
plays football every Friday.
[poem truncated for space]