Some Poems About Marbles

Marbles I

If marbles were horses
And I were a king
I'd have gardens fertile
And ride in great rings

But marbles aren't horses
They're just orbs of glass
And I can't court kingship
'Cause I'm just a lass


Marbles II

One day I lost my marbles
While sitting in the shade
I put a handful in my mouth
And thought they were mislaid

Amy

Growing Pains

The holiday and its visitors are past. It was wonderful to have my brother's four very energetic children romping through our lives these past days but the quiet that closed in after they left is pleasant, too, if not a little sad.

And while the next holiday looms, I feel the slowing pace that has become December for me since our children left.

It makes me think of Aggie. She had faced the end of 1959 not knowing where Stella was, faced having to make some sort of holiday for Willie and Horace. Faced her own part in what occurred. Faced how unstoppable the freight train of our fears can be.

I'm a little afraid to put my hands back on the keyboard and say to Aggie, "Speak." I never have thought of her as me until now. Being Mrs G, who lost her child by accident, was so much easier.

The truth is that I am all three women in this book.

I am Stella--scared and alone and separated from the one person who is supposed to take care of me.

And I'm Mrs. G--well-meaning and desperate, seeking comfort (or redemption) in a well-baked chocolate cake.

And now I know I am most certainly also Aggie--broken, rageful, so very scared that the stones I've kicked off the cliff in a huff will have a murderous velocity by the time they find a target. ~Victoria Tirrel