by Rachel Toalson | Poetry
11:41:49
I wanted to read
today, but someone in my
house kept on talking.
11:41:50
Interruptions, I
say, are not polite. You can’t
hear the story well.
11:41:51
He keeps talking, wants
to finish what he’s saying.
One book takes hours.
11:41:52
(Not really. It takes a
a few extra minutes to
answer his questions.)
11:41:53
(It’s just that I’m more
than ready for nap time. It’s
been a long, wet day.)
11:42:20
They never want the
reading to end, because they
know stories are gifts.
These are excerpts from The Book of Uncommon Hours, a book of haiku poetry. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by This is Now Photography.)
by Rachel Toalson | Poetry
If a spoonful of sugar
makes the medicine
go down, then
what does a
spoonful of coffee do?
One sweet,
one bitter,
opposites—
if not completely,
then at least
marginally
Does coffee, then,
make the medicine
come up?
(Photo by Tyler Nix on Unsplash)
by Rachel Toalson | Poetry
Leaving 1
What I couldn’t wait to leave behind:
Old boyfriends
Mom checking in about everything
My sister always around, leaving my curling iron on
Food
My brother’s loud music
A kitchen full of strawberries
A house that felt suffocating
A room with rust-colored carpet
Open fields
The small-town community
Endless questions
What I would miss:
Nothing
Leaving 2
What I actually missed:
Everything
This is an excerpt from The Summer of My Discontent. Visit my Reader Library page, where you can get it and a couple of volumes for free.
(Photo by Devon Janse van Rensburg on Unsplash)
by Rachel Toalson | Poetry
8:07:03
Five minutes of not
paying attention and they’re
tearing up the house.
8:07:12
Two minutes after
they sit down with a toy they’re
done. It’s exhausting.
8:07:15
If they would listen
to instructions, life would be
easier for them.
8:07:16
If they would listen
to instructions, life would be
easier for me.
8:07:18
This is not the way
a mother is supposed to
think; but she does, still.
8:07:22
It’s okay; I’m not
a bad mom for acknowledging
that twins are hard.
8:07:23
They are hard; that doesn’t
change my love for them—it
is fierce, motherly.
These are excerpts from The Book of Uncommon Hours, a book of haiku poetry. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by Helen Montoya Photography.)
by Rachel Toalson | Poetry
The petals fall:
the wind twirls them toward blades
that bend and straighten,
a world off-center
It is a hatchet:
information, unwanted
It will change everything
a future unmade
And yet:
in the hollowed out, exhumed earth
a seed opens, a bloom unfolds
a brilliant reminder
Life unmakes
and remakes
in quick succession
(Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash)
by Rachel Toalson | Poetry
7:12:58
The sound of whine is
like a blue whale obliterating
my last nerve.
7.12.59
(He’s whining about
his shoes, which he says are too
loose on his right foot.)
7:13:01
(He’s whining about
how he never gets to ride
his scooter to school.)
7:13:04
(He’s whining about
how he didn’t win the foot
race with his brothers.)
7:13:18
Supermom today
looks like leaving half of them
behind for the walk.
These are excerpts from The Book of Uncommon Hours, a book of haiku poetry. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by rawpixel.com on Unsplash)
