Written by Hannah Vanderpool of Praying with One Eye Open.
We’re in the living room. Two of the kids are stretched on the couch and they’re tugging a blanket between them, though they know better than to wear it out further.
The middle boy sits on the loveseat. He smiles and flops himself flat, legs off the side.
He knows he has the better seat, the one across from me.
I pick up the poetry book. It’s a thick, yellow anthology, one we’ve been working through for almost a year.
Every day we sit in our places and I read from it — words about love, and trees and ordinary people. Today is no different.
This morning I read my best, paying attention to the rhythm and flow of the lines. I finish the last line of a Langston Hughes poem and then I don’t say anything because there is meaning in the air and I want them to feel it.