{"id":5103,"date":"2026-01-15T19:56:41","date_gmt":"2026-01-16T00:56:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=5103"},"modified":"2026-01-15T19:56:42","modified_gmt":"2026-01-16T00:56:42","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-322","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2026\/01\/15\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-322\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #322"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/robert-katzki-KLcaQxlmhtk-unsplash-1024x683.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-5105\"\/><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">Photo by <a href=\"https:\/\/unsplash.com\/@ro_ka?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText\">Robert Katzki<\/a> on <a href=\"https:\/\/unsplash.com\/photos\/brown-wooden-bench-under-green-tree-during-daytime-KLcaQxlmhtk?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText\">Unsplash<\/a><\/figcaption><\/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\">Grace Paley was an American short story writer, poet, teacher, and activist. She was born to Ukrainian immigrants in the Bronx. The family spoke Russian and Yiddish at home and Paley grew up between the old and the new cultures. Paley used conversation and dialect to inform her characters. She wrote what she knew and told deceptively simple stories. While mainly known for her short stories, Paley also published a number of volumes of poetry. <\/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\">Here I am in the garden laughing<br>an old woman with heavy breasts<br>and a nicely mapped face<br><br>how did this happen<br>well that's who I wanted to be<br><br>at last   a woman<br>in the old style   sitting<br>stout thighs apart under<br>a big skirt   grandchildren sliding<br>on   off my lap   a pleasant<br>summer perspiration<br><br>that's my old man across the yard<br>he's talking to the meter reader<br>he's telling him the world's sad story<br>how electricity is oil or uranium<br>and so forth   I tell my grandson<br>run over to your grandpa   ask him<br>to sit beside me for a minute   I <br>am suddenly exhausted by my desire<br>to kiss his sweet explaining lips<br><br>Here<br>Grace Paley<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Grace Paley was an American short story writer, poet, teacher, and activist. She was born to Ukrainian immigrants in the Bronx. The family spoke Russian and Yiddish at home and Paley grew up between the old and the new cultures. Paley used conversation and dialect to inform her characters. She wrote what she knew and told deceptively simple stories. While mainly known for her short stories, Paley also published a number of volumes of poetry. Here I am in the garden laughingan old woman with heavy breastsand a nicely mapped facehow did this happenwell that&#8217;s who I wanted to beat last a womanin the old style sittingstout thighs apart undera big skirt grandchildren slidingon off my lap a pleasantsummer perspirationthat&#8217;s my old man across the yardhe&#8217;s talking to the meter readerhe&#8217;s telling him the world&#8217;s sad storyhow electricity is oil or uraniumand so forth I tell my grandsonrun over to your grandpa ask himto sit beside me for a minute I am suddenly exhausted by my desireto kiss his sweet explaining lipsHereGrace Paley<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5105,"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-5103","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\/5103","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=5103"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5103\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5106,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5103\/revisions\/5106"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5105"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5103"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5103"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5103"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}