| On this page: The Craft, Hannah's
Harp, and At My Sister's House.
For more poetry choose: Next Page. Like a crafty spider I spin my sticky trap To catch the thoughts That fly unsuspecting Like a crafty weaver
The pattern evolves
And this is the way the lessons go: with Hannah’s harp on the studio floor; and Hannah’s wiggly form on the Cosco step stool; and the pleas and the bargains and elaborate excuses; and me (I’m the teacher, or so I thought) crying out "we’re almost out of time -- play just one song for me, please!" and Hannah, and Hannah’s harp playing war games "left hand, no I want right, no, play me, no play me!" and Hannah, and Hannah’s harp acting out scripts written in real time in Hannah’s cryptic mind; and the lessons, oh, the lessons I have learned!
At my sister’s house -- giggles at the door "Auntie V is here, Auntie V is here!" too much excitement for the four-year-old, even for the seven-year-old mm, bread baking giving the house the scent of home. Dinner -- pizza and salad and
Bedtime, Tori changes
Kids are down -- sighs as we
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