Read a Poem
McDonald's
by Elana Pitts
“Mom, can we get McDonald’s?”
The question stayed on my tongue every time we passed that beautiful golden arch
accented by red
“We have food at home,” or “Do you have McDonald’s money?”
Were heart crushing growing up
Whenever she asks if I have the money, the immediate statement is “Yes, I do.”
But I much rather have her language upon my tongue
It’s not often she say I love you, sorry or I’m proud of you
She rather show than say
Staying up until 2 AM, standing at the stove, listening to her TV blast through the night
Giving her comfort while we all slept in gloriously
In the morning, waffles, soft, fluffy eggs with spicy sausages. Plates at the table, ready
to fill her baby birds once more
By evening, we all separate with food on our plate
Connected by the woman we need to appreciate more
“Do you have McDonald’s money?”
No. I’d much rather have catered love
McDonald’s by Elana Pitts from Poem for Cleveland. Ray McNiece, editor. Red Giant Books. 2023. Used by permission of the author.
About the Author
Elana Pitts sprouted in Cleveland, Ohio. They spent most of their childhood buried in books at
the libraries they and their family frequented. In 2016 they were published in their first
anthology, Home Away From Home, and have been published in 12 anthologies since. In 2021,
they self-published their first book, Little Wolfpine, combining poetry with elements of
storytelling to paint a world in works like Losing Myself Is the Last Thing I’ll Do (2022),
Amelia Marie Bel Rose
(2022), and others. They choose to live life in the present while
learning from the world. Follow them on Instagram @sweettoothpoetry and @lovely_elanap.
Write a Poem
Think of a book that had a strong effect on you during your school years and write an epistolary poem (a poem in the form of a letter) to a character in the book.
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The Yearling
Dear Jody,
We were both twelve
You in the pages of a book
I as I read your story
You a boy of twelve
I a girl
Both with the same longings
We fell in love with a fawn
Your best friend Fodder-Wing
Names our fawn Flag
Your parents allow us to adopt him
And Flag becomes our constant friend
Fodder-Wing dies because he tried to fly
Something you and I believed at one time we could also do
Your family falls on hard times
Flag eats the corn that feeds your family
Not leaving enough for them
Your father tells you Flag must go
We can't let go We can't send Flag to the land of no return
Your mother desperate to save us, her family from starvation
Shoots and wounds, our friend, our companion, the thing we love the most
We are forced to look Flag in the eye and say good-bye
We wept, feeling the loss of everything
And run away from family, from loss, from hard times
Only to suffer from all our dad and mom were trying to protect us from
Discovered by sailors we are feed and mended as best they could
Sent to return to family to be healed
Jody
I'm no longer twelve you remain eternally twelve
So I will try to explain what I didn't understand when we met
Most mothers and fathers will do anything for their young
As we did for Flag
Your mom and dad had no choice
Their acts that seemed so cruel
Were acts of love
That only life can teach.
Love Always for you and Fawn and what could not be,
A mom
God has guided and continues to guide this angel throughout this life. Amazing.
quiet was I
like Scout
going out of my way to help and share
I listened
trying my darndest to fill requests.
I did not always go with the crowds,
stuck to myself so parents could be proud of my accomplishments.
Scout had no problem and no real worries
I felt and still feel that way.
looking at the world now, we need her peace of mind to
get others to think of peace with all.
Let us get together and share thoughts of love, peace and kindness through this world.
Day 15 Think of a book that had a strong effect on you during your school years and write an epistolary poem (a poem in the form of a letter) to a character in the book.
https://tovlis.wixsite.com/tovliwriter/tovlis-writings
Dear John:
I call you by your first name because we belonged, at least for one moment in time to California. Im entitled to this familiarity for that reason alone. When we first met, I had expectations: Tell me a story the world deserves. Write it like a love letter, a tragic story that will change world history, while hollowing out family. Confuse critics, and embarrass the community. Turn their flesh into shadows that follow every reader, and every listener into an endless horizon. Make us real. Bend our arrogance into hatred. Teach us to miss those whove left.
I traded "Zip Zip Goes to Venus" for "The Pastures of Heaven". It was a place with many rooms and rain puddles to splash around in. I held that book for a long time. I was just ten years oldmy first real read.
Edward Shark Wicks, his wife, and his daughter stare through my windows, with a shotgun blast of poverty obliterating their faces. Yet, their ghosts are forever wealthy. I cannot describe them. Their destroyed faces have changed in memory with each passing decade. I dont know why I loved them. I dont know why I miss them. I guess we all live lies that turn truthful. I guess we all disappear once the neighbors find out well never stack up to expectations. If it breaks, its time to leave. Its time to move on, simple as it is.
Shark taught me that. He was so covered in scratches my skin hurt for him. Still, his daughter loved him; his wife believed in him. The family survives, but not necessarily community.
Poverty hugged my fingers as if it had been sewn there by G-d. Thats what I remembered about The Pastures of Heaven, the little house the Wicks family lived inthe few pages of story-time, the hero murdered, resurrected as Clark Kent instead of Superman.
To this day I forgive my victims before I even meet them. Ive forgotten those who tried to carve out my soul and feed it to pigeons. I stole their knives and disappeared easily. Nothing is missing from my life. My pockets are full because I keep them that way.
All this time, Ive begged the guy sitting next to me not to mess up a good story. Just because youve lost the melody, others still dance.
It doesnt bother me if my chapters remain unread. Its enough to know I belong in the mind of the Wicks and the deep well of the pen that created their absolution belonging that surely lasts forever.
Re: The Pastures of Heaven, Story # III, 1932 by John Steinbeck
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