Many, many years ago, when I was a mother of but one small child, I read on a friend's blog about some other lady who had a blog, who was going to start a thing. A weekly thing. A poetry thing. Poetry Thursday, it was called.

Every week, the creators would post a prompt--an idea to get the creative juices flowing. Every week, bloggers from all over the world would write in with poems. Poems of their own, or poems by other poets that they loved.

I participated right from the beginning, because it sounded like a fun idea. I rarely shared poems of my own, because A) I don't write a whole lot of poetry; and B) sharing your poetry with the world is scary. But sometimes I did. It was a first for me, and it was good.

Eventually, however, Poetry Thursday went away. The creators didn't have the time to come up with prompts and moderate the site and whatnot. Some participants talked of taking up the torch, but--at least as far as a few minutes of idling Googling can tell me--Poetry Thursday as it existed in 06/07 is dead.

Devon commented recently that she missed Poetry Thursday. And you know what? I miss it too. I liked being forced to spend some time every week thinking about poetry--either rediscovering poems I love, searching out poems that are new to me, or even writing poetry of my own.

So, since it's Thursday and all, here's a poem I like. Perhaps you will like it too.



Child in Red


Sometimes she walks through the village in her
little red dress
all absorbed in restraining herself,
and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
according to the rhythm of her life to come.

She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
half-turns around...
and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
for or against.

Then she dances a few steps
that she invents and forgets,
no doubt finding out that life
moves on too fast.

"all she carries in herself frolics and ferments"

It's not so much that she steps out
of the small body enclosing her,
but that all she carries in herself
frolics and ferments.

It's this dress that she'll remember
later in a sweet surrender;
when her whole life is full of risks,
the little red dress will always seem right.


--By Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by A. Poulin

This poem perfectly describes the way a child moves. In my mind I see my daughters; skipping one minute, twirling the next, stopping to pick up a pebble after that. I also love the image of the grown woman, whose life is full of risks, looking back at her childhood summed up in a garment--the little red dress will always seem right.

And there's your serving of poetry for the day. Enjoy.