Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EST November 10th 2023

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem Fourth Wall Arpeggio” by A. Van Jordan, posted below.

Our prompt was: Write about love’s austere and lonely offices.

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

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Please join us for our next session Friday November 17th at 12pm EST, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


 "Fourth Wall Arpeggio" by A. Van Jordan

Lately, my friends ask me, out of love,
have I written about my mother,
who suffers under the storm of Alzheimer’s disease,
and I tell them, “I don’t write about my family,
never directly, at least.” To write this poem seems so

out of character for me, but it’s not about my mother,
as much as it’s about how, as a son, the disease
measures the changing rituals of family.
And 28 lines—all I’ve provided myself—seems so
anemic. Now, I barely have 18 lines left for a love

I don’t have the vigor to describe. Reticence is a disease
I’ve suffered from throughout my life. Without family,
I don’t know what it means to live as myself, and, so,
I hide in the reflection of others, which, after all, others love:
people care more about themselves than a friend’s mother.

I mean, how does one explain to someone who’s not family
how you now see the patterns into which a parent would sew
a quilt to lay over a child, the child neither hip to love
nor Hayden’s “austere and lonely offices”? My mother’s
silence seems like indifference except I know the disease,

which changes our relationship, the parent and child; I sow
healing from my memory of how she taught me to love,
not knowing her movement through a day as a mother,
as someone whose sole gig was to keep me alive, free of disease
and, whenever possible, embarrassment. But now, family

means playing the parent; I’m still just a son, writing about love,
but, lowering my eyes from the trauma, I lift her body, her disease,
for a shower, straining under all the love she sowed.

Source: Poetry (November 2023)

26 thoughts on “Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EST November 10th 2023

  1. Trisha Lawson's avatar Trisha Lawson

    Writing Prompt:

    Write about love’s austere and lonely offices

    I want to write about love, it is a dirty bathroom tub at midnight, slippery limbs and scattered pills. It is the landing of a staircase, waiting for the sounds of an ambulance, and for the sound of the next breath, while praying for relief. It is a locked ward room without a bed, curtains, laces, or light, a watchtower at dawn, the peace of broken things.

    Like

    • Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

      So much emotion is conveyed in your short piece. There is an intensity that draws our intention and stays with us. Thank you for sharing your words and work with us..

      Like

    • michele348's avatar michele348

      Trisha, with your words I can see, in my mind’s eye, this traumatic scene… the anxiety, the tension, the looking for a glimmer of hope.

      Like

    • Trisha Lawson's avatar Trisha Lawson

      Thank you for taking the time to comment on my writing. It find it helps to put heavy things into words and this was a particularly heavy thing. Being about to frame it in love – an act that of love – is very healing.

      Like

    • al3793's avatar al3793

      Trisha, your speaker’s description of love acknowledges the reality that genuine love takes us into what is often the messes of other’s lives without judgement, but with kindness and grace and a willingness to walk with the other in order to know the other. Andre

      Like

  2. Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

    It is said…
    We are all in this together,
    But when push comes to shove-
    Who are the ones who show up to help and support?
    And who are the ones that retreat to themselves?
    And who are we to judge?

    Like

  3. michele348's avatar michele348

    About love’s austere and lonely offices~~~

    I stood at her bedside in the dark hours of the night.
    Disease had robbed her of her thoughts, of the spirit she had carried all during her life.
    Although there were others in the room at her passing,
    I felt entirely alone…her and me… the person who gave me life.

    It had been a long and difficult struggle,
    but through it all, she smiled and endured.
    How wrong life seems at times… how harsh the trials of life are.

    I believe our life is pre-ordained.
    To know the answers to all our whys… well, hopefully, we will come to know in the life beyond when all will be revealed.

    Like

    • Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

      Michele, I’m glad you didn’t paint a rosy picture, but painted the reality of the scene. So true: How wrong life seems at times… How harsh the trials of life are. I like your ending with faith. Thanks for sharing this with us.

      Like

    • rehavia6's avatar rehavia6

      Michelle, how important it was that you were there for your mother in her last moments. Hope some day you will be reunited and get the answers you seek.

      Like

  4. rehavia6's avatar rehavia6

    Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices
    My father loved to tell about the time when his mother took him out for ice cream. She bought two cones. One had a more generous serving than the other.
    My father was asked to choose between the cones. Since he was a child he selected the cone with the larger helping. My grandmother gave him the smaller cone and told him that he should always offer the other person the better portion. This story left a big impression on me and I internalized the lesson that those we love deserve our best.

    Like

  5. al3793's avatar al3793

    Write about love’s austere and lonely offices…

    How can love be austere and lonely? I wonder? I wonder what derailed when a child does not have a warm and loving relationship with their mother?

    When I think of the weight of the love that goes into the work and life of a mother, of crafting the patch work that is a mother’s love I sense comfort, confidence and am drawn into the security of a quilt that has warmed many winter nights.

    I wonder what derails inside a child once that relationship with their mother goes astray. Where do they love? What can they do? I wonder?

    afl 11.10.23

    Like

    • michele348's avatar michele348

      What a void is formed when a mother’s love is missing! A child might ask, “What’s wrong with me, that I’m not deserving?” Hopefully, there is someone in the child’s life to fill the empty space.

      Like

  6. Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

    Andre—lots of wondering here. I have read that if a child has one significant adult of any kind in their lives, who really cares about them, then they have so much potential in the world and can avoid much trauma. I also think that each child responds differently to the relationship that has gone astray… Different relationships, different temperaments of both parties.

    Like

    • al3793's avatar al3793

      Elizabeth I apologize for my tardy reply. I agree with your insight. I consider “fit” as I work with families; how does one personality or temperament fit with the other’s. Also one child’s response to nurture may be very different from another with the same genetic complement. And each individual has different capacity to deal with conflict especially if it occurs day in and day out. Andre

      Like

      • Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

        Andre—no apologies necessary. I am in agreement with what you said. I would like to add that sometimes it’s hour by hour or even minute by minute tolerance to deal with a different problem during the day. Someone can be set off one minute by something and then five minutes later have a totally different perspective on the same event based on what happened within those five minutes. Kind of amazing. Thanks for your thoughtful reply, which is appreciated whenever it was sent.

        Like

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