Here’s a small poem that came from another Ben Shahn photo, which was left over from an attempt at a poem every-other-day during April. (Click here for more on my fascination with Ben Shahn.)
Performance Art
We write our lives
in the small things we do:
bare feet on the cold floor,
the bed made, sheet and quilt
pulled up just so;
hands dipped into a basin,
the still-damp towel
hung to dry. Your smile
warms me when I enter the kitchen
after the cold night.
We write our lives
in the things we do.
Our penmanship grows
better with practice.
– Steve Peterson
Simply lovely!
**sigh**
Thank you, Mary Lee. I was so struck by the photo — the vision of a child practicing handwriting, the small glimpse into the beginning of a day, the faded chalk — I felt connected across the many years since Shahn took that photo.
So true, words so full of grace.
Thank you so much, Amy, for stopping by to write a comment. It is a huge honor to have you here. I love your work!
There was something that really struck me about this anonymous child’s handwriting from many years ago written on a chalkboard in a small coal town in the middle of the Great Depression. How many stories are packed into the nooks and crannies of this ol’ world? How we need to practice listening! The stories fade.