I started, this morning, by writing whatever came out of my brain…here’s a sample of the Alice-in-Wonderland-ness of it all:
I dreamed about being naked (not a surprise as I am writing these drafts of poems and sending them out into the world, unclothed), could I write a poem about April 1st from the perspective of April 2nd? Strange giraffes in my bedroom. The rocking chair I nursed my son in. My husband buying me that rocking chair. My Uncle Davie.
Then I wrote about Uncle Davie and how his memory is fading. I wrote about his WWII experiences as a pilot flying B-25 on missions over Italy, about how he used to push the Model-T out of the garage while his father was on the front porch, so focused on playing chess that he appeared not to notice, about the scar on his chin from his time in the boxing ring, about all those girls he charmed and kissed.
I played with the format of Langston Hughes’ poem, April Rain Song and I played with the chorus of Irving Berlin’s song, Blue Skies, which Uncle Davie sang me this week.
I wrote about my secret knock that I only use on his door, and how his eyes crinkle up when he opens it for me.
But I finally chose this:
UNCLE DAVIE AND ME
by April Halprin Wayland
The rain has stopped.
It’s beautiful outside.
“Let’s go for a walk, Uncle Davie.”
His eyes sparkle.
“Do I have a hat?”
We find his hat.
Where are we going?”
“We’re going for a walk.”
I put my arm
in the crook of his.
We walk…slowly…
…around…the block.
My Uncle Davie
and me.
© by April Halprin Wayland 2010 all rights reserved
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