poetpotter

An early piece of art from a grandchild I encountered a poem line from Emily Dickinson ( 1830–1886) that intrigued me. We play at paste Till qualified for pearl Her poetry often shows a simplicity at first that goes deeper. As I read her lines, I thought of the progression of a child at play, the way they socialize or don't, the way they draw and paint as they learn. From there I imagined the ways we adults succeed and fail at those same things. This is the poem I wrote: We Play at Paste Starting out we cut awkwardly and uneven hands and fingers learning the task we paste odd shapes to paper paint wide berths across the page nothing anyone could recognize We fall at play knock over others' towers and mess up at social play We grow up, make shapes that people recognize turn our brushes to furniture and homes decorate and build things that last and most of the time we can laugh in all the right places and work side by side but sometimes