a poem inspired by a poet.

Our last official school field trip was to Carl Sandburg’s house.

If you perchance recall, I didn’t write the post I intended because I was overcome with distraction from the bittersweet surprise of my youngest son’s seemingly overnight growing up.

The post I intended to write was more like this:

First we toured the house.

(I want to own his farm, Connemara.  I want to save up/steal/inherit/find in a brown paper bag on the side of the highway an absolutely ludicrous amount of money.  Then I want to use all of that money to purchase the land from the current owners – the National Park System.  Then I plan to kick every visitor out of the house and move my family into the house immediately.  I will happily keep Mr. Sandburg’s collections intact and use them for myself.  Forget the greater good of the people.  I just really want that goat farm with a view.  You think I’m kidding?  I already have every room assigned and the porches already decorated.)

The Sandburgs had over 17,000 volumes of books.  The man liked to read.

We followed our house tour with a video about the poet’s life and a trip to the goat barn to learn about Mrs. Sandburg’s prize milking herd.

We enjoyed our picnic lunches on the rock outcroppings behind my, oops, his home.

And after the tour and the goats and the lunch, we had all of the kids spread out across that rock and into the surrounding trees with pencil and paper in hand.

We said, “Write.”

I watched my ones and the ones of my friends take to the woods and as I counted heads and notebooks, I spotted my Wilde Fox.  Perched on a rock, pencil in hand, he was thoughtfully drawing a bird in the center of his page.

“Want me to write down the words for you son?” I asked.

When he nodded, I said, “Tell me a poem about Carl Sandburg.”

I pulled out the pencil and wrote down whatever fell from his mouth.

And he said/wrote ….

When I sit here,

I don’t want to watch shows.

Instead, 

I want to read books.

Because he just wanted to too.

I loved it.

And I think Carl Sandburg would too.

And I think he would want me to live in his house.