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Replicas
August 22, 2013
9:34 pm
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Wrapped in a white handkerchief at the bottom of a drawer,

the impression of my five-year-old palm rests within a clay discus.

Once it dried, my kindergarten teacher let me select what color paint to use.

I remember, my favorite color then was red, to match my mother’s.

I remember, I wanted to be just like her. (Sometimes, I still do.)

The tempera paint remains unchipped and unspoiled,

preserved at the bottom of a clothing drawer,

and has made many moves from childhood home to childhood home

(fourteen of those) and then from grownup home to grownup home,

where my own children bring their replicas—little palms and fingers

pressed into clay, initials carved to make their marks.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 22, 2013
10:19 pm
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Bravo @tlhopkinson (tag!) Your ability for remembrances and bringing them to light while being so wonderfully descriptive is amazing. I have a cast of my son's little hand as a five year old. It's meaning is clear. When I look at him now that little clay disc  becomes a mold for the man that stands before me.......... You have written four poems in two days................ write on!

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 22, 2013
10:24 pm
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There is bound to be one of those clay hand impressions in every home that has every housed a child... glad you could relate... I think many might :) . Upon reread, as usual, it needs some caressing, but I love, love the topic and hope to workshop this one in my poetry class that starts on Monday... 

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 22, 2013
10:47 pm
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Too bad Vegas doesn't take odds on that, I'd be quite wealthy for betting on..................... whether or not you rewrite a poem that is..............as close to a sure thing as ever was......... near 100% positive outcome for change.......................

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tlhopkinson
Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 23, 2013
10:06 pm
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So.... From grownup home to grownup home OR from rented homes to my own home OR from adult home to calling it home OR from grownup home to calling it home

What do ya'll think? (That's my Utah drawl there ;-) ... Ok not really.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 23, 2013
10:15 pm
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Did you mean "Whattaya'll think?"     Pennsyltucky drawl...........

The following users say thank you to Killerelite for this useful post:

tlhopkinson
Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 24, 2013
7:04 pm
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This is really sweet! I remember having to do the hand-in-clay thing, but then I just thought it was messy. I love that you tied in your childhood with that of your children, and the mention of the different houses is perfect for pointing out the transition. 

My identity can be found in my writing
August 24, 2013
9:51 pm
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Thanks Serena!

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

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