The other day I suggested that my mom get working on a new book of poems. She's been musing about making one called "mothers and mums" and much of her day lately is spent cycling around that. But she's already written that poem about 20 times!
To get her out of her rut I told her, "Hey mom, maybe I"ll give you a title and that will spark something new! It's something I do when I'm stuck in the songwriting process - I give myself assignments. So why not write a poem about starlight?"
I didn't think she really got it. I wasn't sure how much she had understood. Her cognitive powers are inconsistent at best.
Today I found the crumpled scribbled paper on her table.
on the one side I had written "STARLIGHT,"
on the other, she began:
Everybody loves stars, whether they are near or far,
they can tell you when and where they shine for people.
Each day stars love telling us night or day, time to work or time to pray;
everybody loves a star.
whether it's day
love to guide us
at night a star can tell us "this is the way, right
over here" and morning is the wonder still of stars on high.
then lower down, almost illegible, back to "mothers and mums"
"Everybody loved Amelia Behrhorst Stone - my mom."