Cover image by the author.
Published: March 1, 2010 [125 copies]
“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 treasures indeed.”
“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
Christine Klocek-Lim received the 2009 Ellen LaForge Memorial Prize in poetry. In 2006 her work was a finalist for Nimrod‘s Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry. In 2009 her work was a semi-finalist for the Philip Levine Prize in Poetry and a semi-finalist in the Black Lawrence Press’ Black River Chapbook Competition. Her chapbook, How to photograph the heart, was published in 2009 by The Lives You Touch Publications, and her poems have appeared in Nimrod, diode, and Poets & Artists (O&S), among other journals, and in the anthology Riffing on Strings: Creative Writing Inspired by String Theory. She edits Autumn Sky Poetry, and her website is www.novembersky.com.
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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