The third practice of the day was an imitation. Margo gave us a piece of poem written by a Pulitzer Prize winner for Poetry, Lisel Mueller, entitled "Love Like Salt." We were supposed to write a poem using the technique of "juxtaposition," imitating Mueller. Before starting; however, we were told to fill in "the worksheet" for warming up. With the worksheet at hand, we were ready to sail on the sea of words. By this time of the workshop, participants were relaxing and even making jokes. We were feeling that we could say almost anything with given materials. We were not artists, it was clear; but what did it matter? The only important thing in the workshop was to "play with words!" It was a good feeling to get the freedom to "play." Even I, a non-native speaker of English, was allowed to join the party if temporarily. Swimming in the pool of words was so refreshing in summer time. Suddenly I remembered the daily interaction with my daughter at her bedside. I had always thought it one of the household chores for me to wake her up and drag her out of bed. From mother's point of view, she looked quite troublesome particularly in the morning of Monday; however, once I slipped in her mind in my imagination, I could feel how it is like to start a new week for a child. I was like that. I had just forgotten the child's emotion. While children are vivacious most of the time, they do not like to be controlled by adults and thus look lazy sometimes. The following poem was written in my own infantile resistance to the "small authority" :
Bright as the first daylight
Time to get up, start up and grow up
TV says it's clear and partly cloudy
"Don't be late" say all mothers
Fresh T-shirt, short pants and sneakers
Do we really have to go?
Newness and innocence
What will wait for us?
Amusement Parks and museums are closed
Five more minutes in blanket will be great
Blinding our sleepy eyes
But let us linger a little longer in bed
We know it will also pour and storm
But for what in the world?
For school bus or the race to be an adult?
A backpack full of books and lunch
You call it Blue on a fine day, too
Are blank and terrible
Glory or failure?
Because we are confined in schools
Lamb's wool protects us from all the evils to come