By Berta Winiker

Head on the pillow, a different kind of churning. Instead of dwelling on the day’s disapointments, any second guessing, any reminder of walking on eggshells

Beyond the simple (repetitive) churning (of butter), here was apple butter, that element of sweetness. Suffused with endorphins, a joyous heart. Worry and anxiety …..

Reflecting instead on the unexpected pleasure and delight in creating a recent poem, a grown-up poem. Here was apple butter, that element of sweetness. A rush of endorphins, a joyous heart.

An experience was entrusted to memory, no pen and paper handy, rapt attention to detail.

Had I a thought that I would later pen that first poem, that grown-up poem? 

And when I did indeed do that, the words seemed to flow rather effortlessly.  I still was thunderstruck.

Truly this was open classroom.

Having been schooled in the “if it’s not done right, it’s not worth doing”, here was total freedom.

Freedom from straight seams, even stitches, the perfect zipper. A release from appraisal, measurement, judgment.

No consideration needed, no criteria involved.

Did the poem merit a gold ribbon, an honorable mention? Would there be a pop like a canning jar to signify a seal of doneness?
Would there be any taste testing to check on toothsome quality?

No matter these questions. Here instead was my own seal of approval from the pleasure principle school. My very own reckoning that my poem was good enough, plentiful and plenty good.

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