{"id":4877,"date":"2024-12-19T10:55:55","date_gmt":"2024-12-19T15:55:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=4877"},"modified":"2024-12-19T10:55:56","modified_gmt":"2024-12-19T15:55:56","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-289","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2024\/12\/19\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-289\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #289"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/20160804_125135-1024x576.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4878\"\/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<div style=\"height:50px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Joyce Sutphen served as Minnesota&#8217;s Poet Laureate from 2011 to 2021. The language of her poetry is simple and direct and thus pulls the reader into the wonder of the natural world and human experience. Sutphen&#8217;s poetry &#8220;explores themes of family, memory, and the passage of time, often grounded in specific locations and imbued with a quiet sense of wonder.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:50px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">The second half of my life will be black<br>to the white rind of the old and fading moon.<br>The second half of my life will be water<br>over the cracked floor of these desert years.<br>I will land on my feet this time,<br>knowing at least two languages, and who<br>my friends are. I will dress for the <br>occasion, and my hair shall be<br>whatever color I please.<br>Everyone will go on celebrating the old<br>birthday, counting the years as usual,<br>but I will count myself new from this<br>inception, this imprint of my own desire.<br><br>The second half of my life will be swift,<br>past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,<br>asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.<br>The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,<br>fingers shifting through fine sands,<br>arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.<br>There will be new dreams every night,<br>and the drapes will never be closed.<br>I will toss my string of keys into a deep<br>well and old letters into the grate.<br><br>The second half of my life will be ice<br>breaking up on the river, rain<br>soaking the fields, a hand<br>held out, a fire,<br>and smoke going <br>upward, always up.<br><br>Crossroads<br>Joyce Sutphen<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Joyce Sutphen served as Minnesota&#8217;s Poet Laureate from 2011 to 2021. The language of her poetry is simple and direct and thus pulls the reader into the wonder of the natural world and human experience. Sutphen&#8217;s poetry &#8220;explores themes of family, memory, and the passage of time, often grounded in specific locations and imbued with a quiet sense of wonder.&#8221; The second half of my life will be blackto the white rind of the old and fading moon.The second half of my life will be waterover the cracked floor of these desert years.I will land on my feet this time,knowing at least two languages, and whomy friends are. I will dress for the occasion, and my hair shall bewhatever color I please.Everyone will go on celebrating the oldbirthday, counting the years as usual,but I will count myself new from thisinception, this imprint of my own desire.The second half of my life will be swift,past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,fingers shifting through fine sands,arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.There will be new dreams every night,and the drapes will never be closed.I will toss my string of keys into a deepwell and old letters into the grate.The second half of my life will be icebreaking up on the river, rainsoaking the fields, a handheld out, a fire,and smoke going upward, always up.CrossroadsJoyce Sutphen<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4878,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4877","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4877","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4877"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4877\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4879,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4877\/revisions\/4879"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4878"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4877"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4877"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4877"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}