The best part of the Oscars, aside from my new-favorite-movie The Shape of Water winning Best Picture, was an ad featuring a poem by New York City-born poet Denice Frohman. Don’t worry hon, I’m not jumping into the fray of commentary regarding who sponsored the ad or the movement it’s meant for–Bmore Energy isn’t the place for that–I just really like the poem!
Click here to see the ad. It’s even more powerful spoken out loud.
Today is a year since my mom passed, so I’m sharing these beautiful quotes in her memory.
“…we should be remembered for the things we do. The things we do are the most important things of all. They are more important than what we say or what we look like. The things we do outlast our mortality. The things we do are like monuments that people build to honour heroes after they’ve died. They’re like the pyramids that the Egyptians built to honour the Pharaohs. Only instead of being made out of stone, they’re made out of the memories people have of you. That’s why your deeds are like your monuments. Built with memories instead of with stone.”
― R.J. Palacio
“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy
“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
I wear a veil of sadness. My mother’s illness and passing has left me unmoored, so please bear with me as I stand in an ocean, the waves lapping and tugging, lapping and tugging.
Hon, this poem speaks to the heart I wish to heal, the head I hope to clear, and the life I must make matter.
“So I am not a broken heart.
I am not the weight I lost or miles or ran and I am not the way I slept on my doorstep under the bare sky in smell of tears and whiskey because my apartment was empty and if I were to be this empty I wanted something solid to sleep on. Like concrete.
I am not this year and I am not your fault.
I am muscles building cells, a little every day, because they broke that day,
but bones are stronger once they heal and I am smiling to the bus driver and replacing my groceries once a week and I am not sitting for hours in the shower anymore.
I am the way a life unfolds and bloom and seasons come and go and I am the way the spring always finds a way to turn even the coldest winter into a field of green and flowers and new life.
I am not your fault.”
― Charlotte Eriksson
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.
Hon, I write. I write picture books and chapter books. In my stories, the little girl inside of me invites other children to mark the place where the sidewalk ends.
In that place and in that space,
we explore the world with open minds,
share our curiosity and wonder,
marvel at spiders and stars,
and believe in the magic of our imaginations.
“Glass itself is so much like water. If you let it go on its own, it almost ends up looking like something that came from the sea.” (Quote by Chihuly.)