March 2010, Keystone Finalist – Seven Kitchens Press
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From the author:
This chapbook was written over a few months’ time in 2007, beginning with NaPoWriMo in April of that year. The few that were written earlier were the ones that inspired me to continue with a collection that explored parenthood with its myriad difficulties and joys.
Christine Klocek-Lim writes about parenting, about children, with both compassion and restraint, steering clear of easy sentiment to plumb the subtle depths of a parent’s love. With a poet’s eye for detail and a parent’s careful attention, she misses nothing. This brilliant and wise collection explores the complexities of holding on and letting go—the parents’ difficult task. She captures those small moments in the lives of our children where they shift and turn, steering toward their own futures apart from us—these poems are small treasures indeed.
~ Jim Daniels, Thomas Stockham Baker Professor of English at Carnegie Mellon University.
Christine Klocek-Lim’s collection relays the lessons of motherhood we all should learn. Her poetry quietly observes the way children explore our world. Sometimes, the results are violent and disturbing; other times, there is only beauty. Step inside this book. You will want to experience those first swimming lessons, learn what hides in the darkness of caves, understand why it is important to keep dead frogs in the refrigerator, seek beauty in the destruction of a flood.
~ Karen J. Weyant, author of Stealing Dust, from Finishing Line Press.
Runner-up in the Jean Pedrick Chapbook Award 2011, New England Poetry Club.
Preteen, 7 a.m.
He keeps stopping because life is hard
and he doesn’t want to go on. I tell him
that there may be something interesting
to see on the way to the car. Exciting,
even. He thinks I’m peculiar and stomps
out the door, regretting already the silent
Xbox, squinting and pushing against the sun’s
affectionate hand. He wants the day ahead
to disappear. I want the moment to last forever
because the shape of his face grows all the time
into something older. The difference most visible
when it’s still early, before he sees me staring
at his hair, at the few small strands he forgot
to smooth down, so interesting in the dawning light.
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