Viewpoints, Literally
I saw as a child, I spoke as a child …
Why I was recalling childhood memories last night, I don’t know. But when I refreshed myself on how it was to be a child, I fondly remembered lying under tables and hiding under beds.
When lying beneath furniture and looking up, I would marvel at how the pieces fit together and at the differences between finished and unfinished wood. Those memory snatches launched last night’s poetry writing.
As an introduction to the poem, let me start with a stand-alone photo, because it is so beautiful and I want to share it large.
Beneath a Rose
And now, the poem:
WE SEE DIFFERENT
I see undersides of roses.
I see inside people’s noses.
I am small. You are tall.
We see different things.
You walk tall with ease.
I crawl on my knees.
You see traffic, drive a car.
I can’t see the cookie jar.
You look up the street.
I look down by feet.
I see bugs and mice and frogs.
I am face to face with dogs.
You see ladies’ lips.
I see ladies’ slips.
You see windows, walls, and doors.
I see crumbs and dust on floors.
You look fast, then go.
I look down … and slow.
I watch dew on blades of grass.
I watch snails and turtles pass.
I see undersides of tables.
I see things called “eaves” and “gables.”
I am small. You are tall.
We see different things.
I see without, within …
Actually, there was a second poem the night before that also deals with seeing and perspective, but in an inner or spiritual way.
CRUCIBLE
Come, Destruction—
come destroy;
unlearning is delicious.
Come, Destruction—
come destroy;
the time is now auspicious.
I hope these poems renewed your appreciation for the power of perspective … or at least revived some happy memories for you.
♥ ~Jo
Photo Credits: Images by various photographers at morguefile.com:
- Child with Sunglasses by Anitapeppers
- Underside of Rose by Penywise
- Child with Binoculars by Hotblack
- Crucible by ShadowLight
* * *
That first poem moved me to tears. I struggle so often with telling my 7 year old to “hurry up”. She moves too slow for me in the morning when we are headed to school, preferring to dance to her alarm radio and try on 15 different dresses until she finds the right one. I ask her to “Focus please!” when she is doing homework, stopping mid-subtraction sentence to tell me about something someone said at school today. I exasperatedly tell her, “I have asked you three times to put on your shoes!!” when she is found yet again painstakingly arranging her stuffed animals on her desk chair so they can see the sun rise from her window, despite the fact that we are running late for an appointment.
I have to actively remind myself frequently that she is little. Deadlines mean less to her, and that is not a bad thing. She has a different perspective than me on what is important. To her, dancing and feeling pretty and sharing her day and caring for her stuffed bunnies trump my rush, rush, rush.
I think she has it right and I have it wrong.
I think you BOTH have it right. Life isn’t meant to be always smooth, and each of you need what the other offers. When the time comes, you can “deal logical consequences,” as it’s called … allow her to fail in minor ways and then dig herself out the pain and troubles she creates for herself.
Looking back, I see that I must have been a real trial to my mother … so forgetful, absent-minded, and messy about everything except what I was focused on creating. Not that I’ve changed much. 🙂 The more Mother repeated things, the less I paid attention, thinking that I’d only have to remember what she said the last time she said it. But really, to some degree, I trained myself not to remember at all.