Me Doing It
The other morning, my daughter and I were talking about how to spend the day. I was off work and she had no school. We had plans to meet up with friends later for a movie, but the whole morning and early afternoon were wide open.
“We haven’t made a craft in awhile,” she suggested.
We discussed several options, including drawing, painting, or working with clay. We finally settled on writing and illustrating a poem. I love comic books, and think graphic novels can be a brilliant way to tell a story or memoir. I’ve always thought that the nature of poetry lends itself to illustration, as well.
In the past, we’ve worked on our graphic poems separately, but this day we decided to make it a collaborative effort. We each wrote alternating lines, and in the end came up with a nifty lil’ poem.
Bluejay Over the River
A bluejay was flying
over a long, tangled ribbon of water,
Watching lily pads like mobs of green clay,
and nervous ripples around worrisome stones.
Watching the sun set in a red and yellow and orange mix.
She turned her tail on the dusk and dove into the wind.
she wished that she could skip stones like humans,
anxious pats of rock playing at bird then fish.
She decided to go back to her chicks as she started soaring through trees with tangled branches,
And only nothingness grabbed her.
My daughter has a knack for concrete description. I loved her line about the “mobs of green clay.” It was a solid metaphor, but also added some good tension to an otherwise pretty landscape. As we batted our words back and forth, we created a scene in which a blue jay is longing for something she’ll never have.
By the time the words were finished, my little one had to step away from the table for awhile. That was probably my fault. Near the end, I did spend quite a bit of time flailing for just the right word.
Later in the day, we co-illustrated with crayon. We alternated back and forth with rounds of two minutes each. I thought my favorite part of the illustration would be the sunset, because I love how my daughter blends colors. Except then she added a thought balloon for the bird showing a hand skipping a stone. The bird was thinking three words that most anyone who’s ever experienced longing can relate to:
“Me doing it!”
