In the book, Last Stop on Market Street by Matt de la Peña, a grandma and her grandson, CJ, are on an outing, and CJ has a lot of questions: How come they have to wait for the bus in the rain? How come they have to wait for a bus at all? Why don’t they have a car? She tells him that trees get thirsty. (“Don’t you see that big one drinking through a straw?” she asks. He doesn’t. Yet.) She tells him there’s no need for a car when they have a bus that breathes fire.
The slim tale goes on like this for a few vibrant pages as CJ names something about the world and his grandmother names something more, thus widening his perspective and helping him see the truth in a deeper, more creative way.
When they arrive at the last stop on Market Street and head towards a soup kitchen where they will serve a meal, CJ notices so much brokenness — sidewalk doors, windows, and stores.
“How come it’s always so dirty over here?” CJ asks his grandma. She tells him, “Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, CJ, you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.”
She points to a rainbow in the sky arching over the apartment buildings, and CJ wonders how she can find beautiful in the broken world, but they walk a bit more, and soon he sees familiar faces from his weekly visits to the soup kitchen.
And seeing them, he smiles and begins to understand.
Try It:
This week take a walk and notice your surroundings, as CJ did. Ask questions about what you see, and respond in the manner of CJs grandmother. Try to write a poem that is a witness to beauty in a broken world.
Featured Poem:
Thanks to everyone who participated in last month’s poetry prompt. Here’s one from Rick that we enjoyed:
Dandelion
Scattered far,
the gray horses
of my longing.
Sprightly seeds
with dampened wings,
a dream of gold,
beneath the cold
and heavy snow.
Bloom bright for me,
for my wish was true
and silent, and
I believe in you.
—Rick Maxson
Photo by Lionel Henry Creative Commons via Flickr. Post by Callie Feyen.
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- 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
Sandra Heska King says
“Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.”
Ooohhh… I love this. You have to dig a little deeper sometimes, but it’s there. This isn’t from a this-week walk, but…
Haitian Snapshot
After the girls finish their rice and beans,
I help Chilanchi lug a heavy pail of water down the hill,
my right hand and her left grasping the handle.
She sidesteps and holds her right arm in front of me
like a crossing gate to steady me in case I trip.
A barefoot boy in a holey shirt-gown, its stretched
neck hanging down one shoulder exposing his scapula,
pulls a makeshift car across the dirt path
by two lengths of string tied together
and attached to a piece of cardboard,
its empty snack bag driver
hunched over the imaginary steering wheel.
Three girls share crumbs from a torn-open,
cast-off Cheez-It bag, pass it around so each
can lick off any remaining salt that clings.
Ivelor and I break chunks of chalk to draw
flowers and trees and write names on concrete.
Kids photo bomb a camera session
with a couple chickens and peals of laughter.
Singing pours from one
of the green concrete houses.
“I love you, Sandy,” says Sophonie.
“Mwen renmen w tou,” I say.
I love you, too.
And the brightness of the sun blinds me.
Richard Maxson says
This brings tears to my eyes, Sandra. Your sudden and subtle last statement so well states how beauty can ambush us. “And the brightness of the sun blinds me.” is so effective because of the vividness and precision of names, place, and artifact that come before. Certainly one of the best poems in the Poetry Prompt section of Tweetspeak.
Megan Willome says
Agreed! Thanks for sharing, Sandy.
Sandra Heska King says
Thanks, Megan. It’s been a lot of weeks since I participated in a prompt.
Sandra Heska King says
Wow. Now I’ve gone and got all teary. Especially since I seem to have lost my words lately. Thanks so much, Richard.
If all goes well, I’ll be going back to Haiti in December. The orphanage has been rebuilt since Hurricane Michael, and the kids I knew have moved on, so it will be a whole new experience.
Callie Feyen says
Thank you, Sandra. All these rich details and imagery makes me feel as though I’m in this poem, and walking toward the beauty you see and are sharing.
Richard Maxson says
Thank you, Callie for featuring my poem.
Sandra Heska King says
We just got back from Michigan, and it was so good to see dandelions again. When I was a kid, we had an eccentric neighbor who stalked her big yard to yank out every one she saw. Then she’d start on our yard because she didn’t want those gray horses scattering gold dreams on her side of the lot line. I wish we had dandelions here. I love this poem.
Callie Feyen says
Thank you for sharing it!
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
Socialize
I mutter under
my breath.
I haven’t spoken
to anyone
all day. And yet
I am a part of this
buzzing party
similar to that of
insects, buzzing outside
in the air, in conversation.
I could never
hold a conversation
that long. Or,
ever at all.
Thrushes of wind
ruffle yawning red
umbrellas, way up
high, the rooftop garden
shifts its sky-lining
shoulders, as we awaken
its belly with our steps.
We, the partiers,
Me, a partier.
How ridiculous.
I count each face
I don’t know,
and count how
many times I’ve never
looked at them.
Then, sipping from
my green plastic
cup of Coca Cola,
still popping with
ice-cold carbonation,
search their features
and memorize their
unspoken names.
Always looking up
at the stars,
and the roiling clouds,
and the golden
flare of sun,
I have to adjust my eyes.
Soon I see
an open-lipped smile,
encountered by
homemade sweets.
We bring our own treats.
I see vibrant laughter,
leaping from her
trembling shoulders.
I see eyes, bejeweled
by the mid-afternoon
light, swimming
blue opals in crystal
water. I see
clasping hands with
rainbow nail polish,
and hugging bodies
that make an arch
of friendship.
I see closeness
from miles away.
L.L. Barkat says
Isabelle, I especially like “I see closeness / from miles away.” And the way the poem suddenly warmed to its colors. Perhaps the way you warmed to the moment. 🙂
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
Well, I was prompted to take the opportunity to see things in a different way. Turns out all I really had to do was look in another direction 🙂
Thank you for the compliment!
L.L. Barkat says
You’re welcome. 🙂
And, somehow that seems like a real life takeaway—that idea of looking in another direction to see what else we might see.
Sandra Heska King says
Hi Isabelle,
I liked how the partier began to relax in an uncomfortable situation by paying attention to the other partiers. Oh, and those eyes–blue opals swimming in crystal water.
And now I want an ice cold Coke, but all I have is water.
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
Lol, thank you!
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
I remember reading your poem, actually, I knew this name was familiar. It popped out at me, especially the title, Haitian Snapshot. People bring cameras to big events, like weddings, graduation, and picnics maybe…but we don’t think to snapshot small moments, like casually hanging out with friends, and those are the ones we often want back the most upon reflection. I think you created that one moment so vividly and fully.
Sandra Heska King says
Thank you! You’re right–it’s good to capture those often forgotten moments.
Actually, I just wrote the poem yesterday morning–but I did write about these events in several different posts on my blog. 🙂
Callie Feyen says
I can so relate to this scene, Isabelle.
I love parties, but they take a lot out of me, and sometimes I wonder if they take too much out of me.
Nevertheless, I love this line: “I have to adjust my eyes.” What a nice metaphor for the transformation, I suppose, we go through to see the stars in the room we are in.
Tiffany Patterson says
Familiar Mess
Dust thick on the dashboard
Covering the radio numbers and
Song name and
Artist
Popcorn pieces litter the
Floor
straw wrappers
napkins
Jackets discarded from
Colder days
Crayons mushy, broken, blunt
Coloring book torn and ragged
Old towels line the back
Seats covered in mysterious crumbs,
happy meal toys
Red melted sticky wax of Babybels stuck to
Carpet
The distinct smell of stale food and
Children
Dirt ground into grey leather
Showing years of life
Wear
Tear
Tears
Laughter
Love
Protection from
Storms
Security
In the changing world
That goes by
Daily
Opportunity
of
Unknown
Destinations.
Sandra Heska King says
I love the detail. This brought back soooo many memories. Though we never thought to take Babybels. We had cheese stick wrappers. 😉 There aren’t too many memories in my car now. It’s clean. And kind of lonesome.
Time goes by so fast.
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
I agree, except I’m the child making a mess in my mom’s car- I’m 16 and getting my permit soon, so soon it’ll be my own familiar mess.
This poem made me smile, because though the memories may be different, we can all experience nostalgia in some way. I have been dealing with such a theme for a few months now, and the reflection pays off well.
Tiffany Patterson says
Isabelle,
Thanks for the comments.. and I like the idea of my own kids making their own mess in their own cars.. unfortunately I am at least 6 years away from that:)
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
You’re welcome! And the thought is weird even for me..I’m both excited and scared.
Tiffany Patterson says
Thank you. I agree that time goes by too fast… I also really need to get the minivan detailed. 🙂 After my son left the babble wrapper in the van one day and it permanently stuck to the carpet.. no more…
Callie Feyen says
What lovely details, Tiffany! Surely you are describing my car. 🙂
I find this poem comforting. So many times I feel guilty for all the cleaning and tending I am NOT doing, but here another mother shows me beauty in the mess. Thank you.
Also, I love “Showing years of life/Wear/Tear/Tears.” I may have said that line outloud a few times. 🙂