They say one becomes euphoric
just before death.
It was January, but
the flowerboxes were filling
too quickly with snow.
And Mama, at home in her armchair,
can only grab her chest,
wring her hands,
fearing delivery
of her cherished child
in reverse,
with not a lick euphoric enough
to console the freezing of her heart.
For the amazing Shay’s Word Garden Word List: Spill Simmer Falter Wither
I recently read, and took inspiration from, Ted Kooser’s book, The Blizzard Voices, which is a book of short poems based on the experiences of people living in the Great Plains during what’s known as the Children’s Blizzard of 1888. Sadly, many children were lost trying to get home from school during the surprise storm. My mom is from Nebraska and says they were taught about it as part of state history. After reading about it, I dreamt of a school teacher who saved her pupils by sticking them together with Grey Poupon and marshmallows. I can’t explain it; dreams are weird, but that is another poem.
NPM Day 11