That stuck out to me as well. It's all about seeing the positivity in the little things that can then compound and overtake the negative. By the time the poem got to the dogs and brought back up the lottery win introduced earlier in the poem, very good job with that by the way, I had already forgotten the wreck, and I wonder if we're supposed to infer that how it was for the speaker. Brilliant!
When you don’t have much, dreaming too big can be dangerous. Disappointment and resentments can be dangerous. We never had a lot of stuff growing up, but I always had peanut butter to add to my saltines and butter.
This almost made me send a picture of my car. There is a crush on the left rear of my Subaru, which I feel is a badge of honor and a warning to other drivers who might get too close. But when so many people have 2014 silver/gray wagons? It’s easy to identify. Everyone else wants it fixed; what do they know about battle scars? Also…Buttered saltines float nicely in tomato soup in the winter; when the heat escapes and the firewood is almost gone everyone goes to bed warm.
Dreaming too big is dangerous. When do you know you’re dreaming too big ? Is it when someone laughs at you when you tell them your dream? Is it when your mom tells you to be more practical ? Or is it simply when you know deep down it will never happen ?
I think of the movie Broadcast News where William Hurt asks Albert Brooks, "What do you do when your reality exceeds your dreams?" And Brooks says, "You keep quiet about it."
Not only do I keep quiet about them, I write them down in pieces that I pretty much never plan on showing anyone else. For my eyes only and for my mind to have some introspection about myself to keep those kinds of dreams in check, but not to kill them off completely.
I think that kind of writing is important because at that point you're the only audience your writing for and so it doesn't have to be so scrutinized as it would be if for a wider array of people. Can also be cathartic in some ways.
So good, Sherman. Truly. To me: The winning lottery ticket is knowing someone will come along and help you out of a ditch. I don’t have that knowing. In this great America, I am on my own.
Ohhh, I love this. Saltine crackers and butter. Know that too.... and the cans of chilli or cans of corn beef hash, and cans of pineapple rounds that my mother served us when the cupboards were bare, but with nine kids, when were they not bare? Another lovely poem...
Have you as an adult tried some of the cheap food that you loved as a kid? A few years back, I tried potted meat product on crackers and had to immediately spit it out.
Your poem really touched me. I like the way it moved from outer situation to a bigger broader sense of personal situation and the saltine crackers and lots of family sharing felt familiar and somehow ended up transcending the single voice.
time after time after time after time, you take me into a new place of precariousness and then hold out a hand so I pull my shit back together.
Nice.
Wow! I love this, especially this bit:
"and drove my emptinesses all
the way home where I shared
a sleeve of saltine crackers
and butter with my sisters ..."
That stuck out to me as well. It's all about seeing the positivity in the little things that can then compound and overtake the negative. By the time the poem got to the dogs and brought back up the lottery win introduced earlier in the poem, very good job with that by the way, I had already forgotten the wreck, and I wonder if we're supposed to infer that how it was for the speaker. Brilliant!
Thanks! Yes, leaving the wreck behind.
Thank you!
When you don’t have much, dreaming too big can be dangerous. Disappointment and resentments can be dangerous. We never had a lot of stuff growing up, but I always had peanut butter to add to my saltines and butter.
Yeah, we always had the USDA commodity peanut butter.
This almost made me send a picture of my car. There is a crush on the left rear of my Subaru, which I feel is a badge of honor and a warning to other drivers who might get too close. But when so many people have 2014 silver/gray wagons? It’s easy to identify. Everyone else wants it fixed; what do they know about battle scars? Also…Buttered saltines float nicely in tomato soup in the winter; when the heat escapes and the firewood is almost gone everyone goes to bed warm.
Crackers in tomato soup?! Yes!!!!
Dreaming too big is dangerous. When do you know you’re dreaming too big ? Is it when someone laughs at you when you tell them your dream? Is it when your mom tells you to be more practical ? Or is it simply when you know deep down it will never happen ?
All of the above? None ? Asking for a friend.
I think of the movie Broadcast News where William Hurt asks Albert Brooks, "What do you do when your reality exceeds your dreams?" And Brooks says, "You keep quiet about it."
Not only do I keep quiet about them, I write them down in pieces that I pretty much never plan on showing anyone else. For my eyes only and for my mind to have some introspection about myself to keep those kinds of dreams in check, but not to kill them off completely.
Yes, I also write stuff that'll stay private.
I think that kind of writing is important because at that point you're the only audience your writing for and so it doesn't have to be so scrutinized as it would be if for a wider array of people. Can also be cathartic in some ways.
I agree.
So good, Sherman. Truly. To me: The winning lottery ticket is knowing someone will come along and help you out of a ditch. I don’t have that knowing. In this great America, I am on my own.
Thank you, Jennifer. I'm lucky that I have a lot of truck-driving people, real and metaphorical, in my life
Love the turn ...
Thanks, Mary.
Oh yeah! And, love the phrase, “and my voice as my voice”.
Thanks!
Gorgeous!
Thank you, Rhiannon.
I love this poem, it’s beautiful. I love the dogs being there, howling with you.
Thank you, Indra.
Just a lovely bunch of words, Sherman. Sweet and touching!
Thanks, Rick.
Ohhh, I love this. Saltine crackers and butter. Know that too.... and the cans of chilli or cans of corn beef hash, and cans of pineapple rounds that my mother served us when the cupboards were bare, but with nine kids, when were they not bare? Another lovely poem...
Have you as an adult tried some of the cheap food that you loved as a kid? A few years back, I tried potted meat product on crackers and had to immediately spit it out.
I have… like, I can’t eat Spam anymore, but the cheap cans of corn beef hash I still like once in a while with two fried eggs, and some fresh Avocado…
I still love Spam!
Love it. I especially loved your inclusion of the animals into your poem-story.
Thank you!
Love the whole poem. 56books!!!
Back in the 1979s, Dutch's Pawn Shop in downtown Spokane charged five bucks for a grocery bag filled with paperbacks.
Your poem really touched me. I like the way it moved from outer situation to a bigger broader sense of personal situation and the saltine crackers and lots of family sharing felt familiar and somehow ended up transcending the single voice.
Thank you, Susan.