My first bee sting happened the same year of my first crush. I was four.
The boy (I’m going to call him Marcus) wore glasses and cowboy boots, and we were climbing a wooden jungle gym at recess in the hopes we could see the Sears Tower once we got to the top. The bee was on my jacket, though I wasn’t aware of its presence. Only of Marcus.
Marcus and I didn’t say much to each other. Our communication seemed to happen via eye contact and movement, like the time we were making collages with different herbs and spices – thyme, cloves, and hot pepper flakes.
“Don’t eat them, don’t eat them!” my preschool teacher warned us as she sprinkled the red flakes on our card stock.
I watched her walk past me. I looked at Marcus. I looked at the flakes. I looked at Marcus. I licked my finger, stuck it on the card stock, swiped about five flakes, and put them in my mouth. Marcus followed suit.
Heat worse than standing bare-footed on a tar road in August scorched within me, and I started to cry. Marcus threw himself off his chair and rolled around on the ground, and I think he too was trying to put out the fire that raged within him.
That day, as we sat in Time Out together sipping cold water from paper cups fit for fairies, Marcus, who had bits of red pepper flakes in his hair turned to me and smiled.
Feeling bold, I asked him, “At recess, do you want to try to see the serious tower?”
“I think it’s called ‘Sears,'” is what he said.
It was the beginning of a solid relationship.
Before the sting, I remember making that last push to the top of the structure, standing up and looking around. The day was blue, and I could see my breath and feel it rush in like cool puffs of smoke when I inhaled. I watched cars soar towards the city, and I looked across the street at the baseball diamond and the sledding hill where the big kids played. It would be years until I’d sled down that hill, ice flying in my face and creeping under my jacket, prickling my stomach, and me screaming and laughing and thinking this was the wildest ride to be on at sixteen.
I didn’t know any of this at four, standing as high as I’ve ever been on a day that smelled of burning leaves and apples. Marcus and I couldn’t see the Sears Tower, but this was a great view, and I decided it was warm enough to unzip my jacket, so I did, but it got stuck. I gave it a yank and felt a zap to my right index finger.
I don’t remember yelling, but I remember opening my mouth to yell. I know I cried, but I don’t know if it was because I was in pain or because I had to leave the top of the world.
My teacher carried me into the office, put salve and a band-aid on my swollen finger.
“I’m afraid of bees,” I told her as I dangled my feet from the chair I was sitting on.
“They’ll be gone soon,” she told me tossing the band-aid wrapper in the trash and then giving me a hug.
“Brave girl, climbing to the top,” she told me.
I may’ve had a crush on Marcus, but I loved my preschool teacher.
It was autumn turning toward winter. I would be five soon. There would be more crushes and more stings, but I’m glad the first of them happened on the day I went hunting for the tallest building in the world with a friend who wanted to come with me.
Try It
In Tania Runyan’s How To Write Poem, she asks, “What if you were to invite the reader into summer rather than just tell them about it? How would you create that solid memory?” She goes on to show examples: Instead of “hot,” she writes specifics to make us feel the context of “hot”: “rainbow popsicle juice drips down my wrists.”
I applied this concept to fall. Instead of describing the season, I tried to to invite the reader into my memory of a fall day when I was in preschool. This week’s prompt is just that: Don’t describe, invite. This week, don’t describe fall — invite us into fall with your poetry.
Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in our recent poetry prompt. Here’s a live reading of a poem by Janice Lynch Shuster that we enjoyed.
Photo by Kentama, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Post by Callie Feyen, author of The Teacher Diaries: Romeo and Juliet.
I have been a fan of Callie Feyen’s writing for quite some time but I finished this book in almost one sitting. You do not need to be a teacher to have instant admiration for her honesty, vulnerability, and true dedication to her students. She uses her own personal storytelling as the tool to teach one of the greatest stories of our time creating an instant connection to her students as well as to you the reader. If you have ever been in 8th grade, fallen in love, had a best friend, or loved reading, you will love this book. As the mother of an 8th grader, my other genuine hope is that my son will one day have a teacher as gifted as Callie. – Celena Roldan
- Poetry Prompt: Courage to Follow - July 24, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Being a Pilgrim and a Martha Stewart Homemaker - July 10, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Monarch Butterfly’s Wildflower - June 19, 2023
Donna Falcone says
I reject the mums at Walmart,
Thinking them a tease,
Knowing they will quickly crisp
in nearly 90 degrees.
They belong to Northern Fall.
I pass them as I go.
I’m looking for water and M & Ms
And a weather Radio.
The time has come, far south of the Border,
When storms Line up in ABC order.
Sandra Heska King says
Absolutely can’t must have melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hand M&M’s. #StandardStorm#Supplies. Love this!
Richard Maxson says
Love this. If we could only have Northern Fall without Northern Winter. Living in the South makes us look a little deeper for Fall signs. That’s the blessing in disguise.
Why don’t they just cal M&Ms MMMMMMMs?
Donna Falcone says
Excellent question, Richard! 🙂
And you’re right about that looking deeper.
Callie Feyen says
I love the rhythm and rhyme of this, but also your sense of place, both in the North and South during fall. Also, I’m right there in the grocery store with you, marching past the mums and heading for the “necessities.” (For sure, M&Ms are necessities.)
Katie says
Donna,
SO fun! Enjoyed this:)
Donna Falcone says
Ha! Thanks! I’m still trying to get used to Southern Fall!
Carol Billings Rice says
come with me darling and we can go sailing
together alone on the bountiful sea
the ocean seems empty the night breeze if rising
this fresh wind is teasing me come sail with me
Oh Johnny dear Johnny green eye like deep water
how can I go sailing with you on the sea?
What would we do there and how can we live there
alone in the silence pray , how could it be?
Don’t worry my darling , my life is the ocean
we’ll carry some stores : whiskey water and food
will fish in the moon light make love under blue skies
across the vast ocean and no one to see
Oh Johnny dear Johnny our warm arms in vite me
I want to go with you across the deep sea
but to leave my poor family my mother and father
my dear little sister and brother’s three!
lISTEN my darling please take this gold ring
be my family…YOu know how I love you
and I can’t bear to leave you but my mother the
ocean is calling for me.
Good bye to my Mother , farewell to my father
good by to my sister and brothers
my curly haired sailor, deep eyes like sea water
has captured my heart and I’m off to the sea.
an
Callie Feyen says
I love the back and forth of this poem, and also the LOVE story. My oldest daughter, Hadley, always asks me, “Really, Mom, does EVERYTHING have to be a love story?” Yes, yes it does. 🙂
This poem reminds me of Ingrid Michealson’s song, “Gone Away.” The fist line is, “I will live my life as a lobsterman’s wife, on an island in a blue bay. He will take care of me, he will smell like the sea, and close to my heart he’ll always stay.”
Tigres Orce says
how can I put my poems here.dnt know how to go about it.m new here
Donna Falcone says
Hi Tigre’s! Welcome to Tweetspeak!
Your response to the poetry prompt can go right in the comment box. Each week you’ll find a new prompt, and many other great pieces throughout the week.
You can learn more about Tweetspeak over in The Mischief Cafe: https://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/mischief-cafe/
We’re looking forward to your take on the invitation poetry prompt. 🙂
Sandra Heska King says
Hi Tigres,
What she said. And welcome.
Tigres Orce says
Donna, thanks alot
L.L. Barkat says
This story was just soooo fun, Callie. I told my girls about it today in the car, and they were laughing (and also wondering just what in the world that teacher was thinking, giving kids pepper flakes!). Pro tip: never drink water when you’re mouth is on hot pepper fire. Milk, yogurt, or bread will isolate the chemical. Water… acts to spread it. I felt sorry for your little girl self! (But you. So mischievous!)
Callie Feyen says
Thank you, L.L. It was a fun one to write.
Yes, we teachers make all kinds of mistakes, I’m afraid. She was a gem, though. And she did offer me milk, but I was never a fan of the stuff, and took the water instead.
It was a sad moment, but actually, I’d do it over again. And today, I put hot pepper flakes in almost everything. Must be a little reminder for me to break the rules every so often. 🙂
Tigres Orce says
Purple dove soaring
Away into the sky
Beheaded roses amidst
Glows of thorns
Giant lizard with gray legs
Attractive but limping;
Perfection is the best I feel in you
Mog is your less
‘Buts’ are the soarest things
We never wished
But it sticks to us
Like an unforgiving hunch
Ever proud of our bests
Ever humble for our imperfections.
Sandra Heska King says
“Beheaded roses amidst glows of thorns.” I see them. Well, what’s left of them.
Callie Feyen says
Oooo! An “unforgiving hunch.” I’m going to need to sit with that for a bit. That’s a phrase I can feel. Also, “beheaded roses amidst glows of thorns” is an image I will walk with for a while. This is a great Halloween poem!
Sandra Heska King says
Callie, I love this so much. You can sure tell a story!
Sandra Heska King says
Sharing something I wrote a couple years ago right after we moved down here–but before we found a house.
First South Florida Fall
Friday, October 14
Siri has taken me to the mall,
and now I’m in a dressing room with Gayle.
Gayle has a measuring tape draped
around her neck.
I disrobe from the waist up.
“I feel like I’m in a doctor’s office,” I quip.
Gayle and I laugh about
things falling down
and places going flat.
I depart with a bag of unmentionables
and go next door where I hope to find
some new “bright” clothes
to wear for next week’s family photo shoot.
But all I see are dark clothes and sweaters,
pieces I might don on an autumn
or winter day in Michigan.
“Is this really what I’m supposed to wear down here?”
Alicia laughs.
They’re mostly for the visitors, she tells me.
So I find a few things on the sales racks
and make note to stock up in the spring.
Maybe I can lift and tighten some things by then.
Donna Falcone says
Sandra, I love this…. the doctors office, the unmentionables, and the surprise of sweaters!
Callie Feyen says
“things falling down.” HAHAHA!
I love love stories, and I love stories about clothes, and trying on clothes, and this one is so much fun.
Why DO we Midwesterners wear the blacks and the grays so much? I have a sunshine yellow winter coat and when I wear it, people always say how much they like it, and they say it like they’ve forgotten there are other colors than what the Midwest sky in winter gives us.
I hope you don’t wear what the visitors wear, my friend. 🙂