![](\"http:\/\/blaine.org\/jules\/Hurry-Up-1.jpg\")
<\/a>My Poetry Friday post this week is—straight up, y’all—stolen from the honorable Liz Garton Scanlon<\/a><\/strong>. Always steal from the best, right? She posted this poem by Marie Howe back in September of last year<\/a><\/strong>, and I swear I’ve thought of it every day since then. Cross my heart. <\/p>\nAnd that would be because I’m a hurrier myself. And I would like to be less of one. And my oldest daughter moves slowly and takes in the world well, which she got from my husband. Evidently, a grown-up neighbor once told him when he was a boy—and I paraphrase—“you will never get an ulcer, my child, but you’ll give one to those who are waiting on you.” I drop my daughter off at school, and—no matter if she’s about to be late—she downright ambles into the building, all these kids rushing past her. Wait: It’s most definitely a mosey that she executes. But I think she probably sees way more than I do in this weird, bizarro world we live in. And this is good. <\/p>\n
So, here’s the poem that Liz posted that kept me from getting up from my computer for about twenty minutes after I first read it. It had this power over me, started a conversation with me about why exactly it is that I do hurry. Yes, I talk to myself. What? Seriously? Don’t you all? For real? <\/p>\n
Today also happens to be the birthday of the Daughter Who Moves So Easy, but I didn’t even mean to time this poem in such a manner. But it’s fitting, yes? <\/p>\n
I take my chances and post the poem in its entirety:<\/p>\n
“Hurry” by Marie Howe<\/strong><\/a> <\/p>\n
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
\nand the gas station and the green market and
\nHurry up honey, I say, hurry,
\nas she runs along two or three steps behind me
\nher blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down. <\/p>\nWhere do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
\nTo mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
\nToday, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
\nHoney I’m sorry I keep saying Hurry\u2014
\nyou walk ahead of me. You be the mother. <\/p>\nAnd, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
\nback at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
\nhurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n* * * * * * *<\/center><\/p>\n {The image opening this post comes from WK12<\/a><\/strong> and is linked to the place in the big, wide open cyberspace ‘verse* where I found it. I love how your response to this image will tell you if you’re fundamentally Half-Glass-Empty or Half-Glass-Full. Is it saying “we’re all going to die one day anyway, so why hurry?” or “you’re going to die one day and heaven only knows when, so do what you’re wanting to do already, you dolt.” Yes, I think it would add “you dolt” if it could talk to us, as it seems rather in-your-face’y to me, don’t you think?}<\/p>\n
* Did you see how I wrote ‘verse<\/font><\/em>? Yup, Adrienne<\/strong><\/a> and Farida<\/strong><\/a> will be proud: I’m finally watching Firefly<\/em> on DVD. More like rapidly consuming, seeing as how it is SO GOOD. <\/p>\n