Tesfa and I have been reading poetry lately. A lot of poetry. There are the poems in Winnie-the-Pooh, plus we’ve read a few of the stand-alone poems (although my copy of Now We Are Six has vanished and my mother-in-law had to send me her copy because of I had a colossal freak-out on facebook about how I tore the entire house apart and the book is missing. As far as I can tell, I may have returned it to the library even though it was not a library book). We’ve gone through Alligator Pie. Two Shel Silverstein collections (Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light In the Attic). I am running out of poem books. Do people still write books that are sixty pages full of kids poems? I search the internet and the first books listed are the ones I have here.
Tesfa, in her room at night, stands on her bed making rhymes in iambic pentameter.
I forgot – I have a book of Kafka in rhyme rewritten for children. I can traumatize Tesfa with that tonight.