Still saving the world? As writers I think we are a group fairing quite well with social distancing. And as readers, well, we are used to traveling to the inner souls and the outer limits without ever leaving our nice warm beds. Come on over for a Wednesday Chat.
There is a table in the back of the room filled with snacks. There is also a wet-bar but you’ll have to mix your own drinks. I prefer to drink from the ditch. (Whiskey & Water)
Bring your own favorite poem. If it isn’t too long you can drop it into the room. If it is an epic poem, bring a link to it. Wednesday is a Relaxed Topic Night during Poetry Month.
Portrait of a Girl With Comic Book
by Phyllis McGinley
Thirteen’s no age at all. Thirteen is nothing.
It is not wit, or powder on the face,
Or Wednesday matinees, or misses’ clothing,
Or intellect, or grace,
Twelve has its tribal customs. But thirteen
Is neither boys in battered cars nor dolls,
Not Sara Crewe or movie magazine,
Or pennants on the walls.
Thirteen keeps diaries and tropical fish
(A month, at most); scorns jump-ropes in the spring;
Could not, would fortune grant it, name its wish;
Wants nothing, everything;
Has secrets from itself, friends it despises;
Admits none of the terrors it feels;
Owns half a hundred masks but no disguises;
And walks upon its heels.
Thirteen’s anomalous – not that, not this:
Not folded bud, or wave that laps a shore,
Or moth proverbial from the chrysalis.
Is the one age defeats the metaphor.
Is not a town, like childhood, strongly walled
But easily surrounded; is no city.
Nor, quitted once, can it be quite recalled –
Not even with pity.
Remember to Bring your Own Poetry