Day 6, We Are Winter Poets
kaitlincurtice.substack.com
Good morning friends,
I come to you today not sure how to hold everything this Christmas— the magic of opening gifts and celebrating love, the grief that we never quite escape, the ongoing realities that Israel continues to bomb Palestine and Bethlehem is in mourning, which is painful and significant on Christmas.
And yet, we are still here preparing a Christmas dinner.
I don’t know how to hold it all.
Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash
So I pause and sit with reality, maybe light a candle or two, carry it all in my heart, and yes, write poetry.
I hope however this winter day finds you, there will be peace in the midst of heartache, and steady reminders of love in a hateful and broken world.
And our word today is play.
There’s this scene in Winter’s Gifts where Dani is playing in the snow with her brother. It’s simple and fun, and it helps us lean into our words and embodiment today.
So, let’s ponder play.
I wonder if before you write this poem, you do something playful, like dancing to your favorite music around the living room, coloring, drawing a picture, playing a card game, laughing, going outside to sing a song to the trees, something that brings you alive, brings you back to your child self for a moment, gives you the gift of embodiment.
You all are such a gift. Don’t be afraid of being human, embracing it all, letting it spill out, and practicing love and care for yourself and each other.
Play
I forgot how to play
for a long time,
almost missing it,
almost missing myself.
My head controlled
every part of me, so
my body forgot how to
be a body that has
needs and hopes,
that longs to move
and feel alive again.
So sometimes I
find my way back again,
letting my body be a body,
letting my spirit laugh,
letting my childlikeness come through,
letting my head rest a while.
Play is medicine.
Play bring us home.
And sometimes, that’s absolutely
all we really need.
I want to thank you all, for reading, sharing, offering pieces of yourselves and such affirming, insightful presences; the joy you bring to me is a challenge to express adequaterly, so I'll just say I am grateful for each of you.
We just returned from a walk and watching the granddog bound over trees and streams, and our grandkids sing to us in a video chat. Our youngest son and daughter in law playing a game across the room, I took a little time to write this.
Play
We often try to put you in a box,
layering a rigid, dour grimness
over everything you do and say,
forcing order and obedience,
treating them as Gods.
I wonder about this:
All the times you danced and sang,
howled from the belly
with friends around a table,
made fun of the high religious
and power brokers,
smiled at a child lost in the game.
Primal scream, luscious laughter,
Drips of desire, dreams of joy.
When do we let you, wisdom teacher,
Just go out and play?
Per your assignment, Katilin, I chose to play Yahtzee with my husband, then my husband and mother-in-law.
"B-Nine!" the neighbor calls out.
"G-Two", then "O-Seven"
A bingo game amongst beloveds
Bellowing hurray, and willing the winning combination of letters, numbers
They shout and laugh: an intergenerational gathering
December 25 brings winds and the rain comes through the lanai
Onto our Yahtzee game and the couch.
How novel to be out of doors, of sorts, barefoot, but sweatered
Surrounded by coconut palms, saw palmetto, senior citizens
A full house, 3 of a kind, we compete with our cries of 'Yahtzee'
Who cares who wins? Being here is a blessing.
B-here! I-pray N-joying my day G-whiz! O-boy