His stomach hurts. Skin cold and slick with sweat. Can’t sleep. Mind racing.
‘Dad, I’m nervous.’
‘It’s ok. You’ll have fun. You need rest, get some sleep.’
Tossing//turning, he finally gives up& this morning was in the shower before I got up.
Today, my son started his first job. Only ten, it’s volunteer. He’s working at the elementary school during summer enrichment, with a boy the teachers have been unable to reach. An encourager. A friend to help them stay on task.
We walked him in and watched, silent, as they explained to him what he would do& he gave the nod it was time for us to go—we’ll pick him up this afternoon & i’ll let you know how it goes
He’ll be fine& learn things about himself& others that i could never teach him—
How much of yourself do you share in your poetry? How personal do you let it be? Where do you draw the line on things you would not share? Why?
Let’s talk about this.
I am saving my opinion for the comment section this time, as I want to hear from you& not guide the conversation to start. Look forward to your insights& opinions.
& see you right back here tomorrow @ 3 pm, for OpenLinkNight. Get those poems ready. Smiles.