~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Joseph Mills

Valentine

In second grade, Mrs. Connor liked to use

the word “special.” Things, people, places

were “special,” but some, like the valentines

we made for her with construction paper,

were “especially special.” These she displayed,

and it made us feel good about ourselves.

In high school, we would learn to mock people

who used phrases like that or “very unique.”

We would argue about the difference between

flammable and inflammable, woke and awoke, 

bone and debone, God and Satan, love and hate,

learning how to wield words as weapons, 

and we were too smart and too cool to think

anything was special.

                                    But, some of us managed

to grow older still and appreciate the pleasures

of our younger selves, the music and movies

and people we had become embarrassed of.

We found ourselves more forgiving, more willing

to accept that, yes, there are things and people

who are “especially special.” Like who? Like

a woman who tries to teach young children how

with only crayons, colored paper, and effort,

they can make something that will touch others,

something extraordinary, even extra extraordinary.

Education

When my children began attending school,

I learned new holiday customs like how to put

ice in the toilet before bedtime to make it snow

or the need to wear green on March 17 to avoid

getting pinched. They told me how the “wee ones”

turn over desks and it was good luck to catch

one because then he has to grant three wishes,

so I found myself encouraging my children

in their attempts to try to trap and force a ransom

from a small enraged fearful stranger. Sometimes

as I helped them search for the right clothes to wear,

as we tried to master the charms and rituals

to protect against violence or lead to good fortune,

the radio would report on another school shooting,

making it clear how futile magical thinking can be

in this world, and on the way to school we talked

about what we would buy with a pot of gold.

I said a tower to lock them in, a house made of bricks,

maybe 365 toilets and an ice maker so it would snow

all the time and they’d never have to go to school.

They said ice cream machines in their bedroom.

Joseph Mills, a faculty member at the University of North Carolina, has published several collections of poetry with Press 53, most recently Bodies in Motion: Poems About Dance.