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Gas flames lick the copper
bottom of my cauldron. I add another
dash of thyme, a pinch of powdered pectin,
trying to perfect a potion to freeze moments
of time: to save my babies' giggles, collect their
youthful triumphs, preserve their hugs when one
by one they leave home. I stir. My cauldron
bubbles; time stubbornly boils away.
This poem first appeared in Tales of the Talisman (8:3, 2013).
Used here with the author's permission.
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Lauren McBride finds inspiration in faith, family, nature, science, and membership in the Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association (SFPA). Nominated for various awards, her work has appeared internationally in speculative and mainstream publications for adults and young adults. She is the author of a poetry collection for teens, Aliens, Magic, and Monsters (Hiraeth, 2023). Lauren lives in Texas and enjoys swimming, gardening, baking, reading, writing, and knitting scarves for U.S. troops.
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laurasalas:
Oh, gosh. Yes, that last bit exactly. Love this, and the thyme/time. Wonderful, Lauren!
Posted 08/31/2016 02:20 PM
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Lori Levy:
Like the way the shape of the poem forms a cauldron.
Posted 08/31/2016 09:21 AM
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Jean :D:
First we give them roots, and then we
give them wings. My youngest son is now struggling with the 'WINGS" part;
his youngest just left for college.
Posted 08/31/2016 06:12 AM
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blueskies:
A classic rendering of what so many of us experience. Lov'd it! Thanks, Lauren
Posted 08/31/2016 05:58 AM
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