A Found Poem: What Happened . . .

When Twitter is a-buzzing and I'm browsing, some days there are just too many blogs, articles, websites, etc. to check out and read thoroughly in one sitting.  So, I always have an open virtual "sticky note" on my desktop, where I drag and drop the web address to read at another time.

I had about ten sticky notes each full with at least 10, 15, or even 20 items to revisit.  Now that summer is here and I'm on vacation at my parent's house (where in the evenings there is only time for me because I'm not home thinking about everything on my to-do list), I have a little time to go back, read, reread and share.

I stumbled upon this poem from Kate Messner that I wanted to capture and remember  . . . and because there were no pinnable images or videos on the page, I decided to share it here!

Enjoy this found poem reminding us why we need to write and why I am so thankful for all who write books, illustrate books, and take part in any of the process of making books!  Oh, and thank you Kate Messner for this treasure!

What Happened to Your Book Today

by Kate Messner

Somewhere, a child laughed

on that page where you made a joke.

Somewhere, she wiped away a tear,

Just when you thought she might.

Somewhere, your book was passed

from one hand to another in a hallway

busy with clanging lockers,

with whispered words,

“You have got to read this.”

And a scribbled note:

O.M.G. SO good.

Give it back when ur done.

It’s looking a little more love-worn lately,

rougher around the edges than it did on release day.

There are dog eared pages and Gatorade stains.

Someone smeared maple syrup on the cover

because she read all through breakfast.

Pages 125 and 126 are stuck fast with peanut butter

Because Chapter 10 was even more delicious

than lunch.

Somewhere, tiny hands held up your book

And a little voice begged, “Again!”

Somewhere, the answer came,

A grown-up sigh…and a smile…

And the fourteenth read-aloud of the morning.

That same book. Again.

Your book.

Somewhere, a kid who has never read a whole book on his own

(Really. Not even one.)

picked up yours and turned a page.

And then another.

And then one more.

And it was pretty cool, turns out.

He brought it back – huge smile on his face –

(and I mean huge)

And asked for another one.

And he read that, too.

Somewhere, a teenager who thought she was alone

Opened your pages and discovered she’s not.

And somewhere, somebody who thought about giving up

will keep on trying,
keep on hoping.

Because of that book you wrote.

Somewhere tonight – listen closely and you’ll hear–

A child will turn the last page of that book,

That book you wrote,

and sigh.

Can you hear it?

It’s the sound of a story being held close

Right before a young voice says,

“It feels like this was written just for me.”

And it was.