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	<title>Tales from the Park Side &#187; peter meinke</title>
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	<description>Life, motherhood, existential crisis. Oh, and moving from Hollywood to the farm. That too.</description>
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		<title>And One More That Spoke To Me</title>
		<link>http://paigeorloff.com/blog/2009/01/29/and-one-more-that-spoke-to-me/</link>
		<comments>http://paigeorloff.com/blog/2009/01/29/and-one-more-that-spoke-to-me/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 29 Jan 2009 15:49:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paige</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[peter meinke]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://paigeorloff.com/blog/?p=439</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The funny thing is, I don&#8217;t have specific nostalgia for my first love (sorry, James&#8211;but I&#8217;m sure you feel the same!) but rather for the feeling that kind of love engendered at the time. Thanks to the Writer&#8217;s Almanac, of course, for both of these. I love my daily dose of poetry.
Everything We Do
by Peter [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>The funny thing is, I don&#8217;t have specific nostalgia for my first love (sorry, James&#8211;but I&#8217;m sure you feel the same!) but rather for the feeling that kind of love engendered at the time. Thanks to the <a title="Writer's Almanac" href="http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/" target="_blank">Writer&#8217;s Almanac</a>, of course, for both of these. I love my daily dose of poetry.</p>
<p>Everything We Do<br />
by Peter Meinke</p>
<p>Everything we do is for our first loves<br />
whom we have lost irrevocably<br />
who have married insurance salesmen<br />
and moved to Topeka<br />
and never think of us at all.</p>
<p>We fly planes &amp; design buildings<br />
and write poems<br />
that all say Sally I love you<br />
I&#8217;ll never love anyone else<br />
Why didn&#8217;t you know I was going to be a poet?</p>
<p>The walks to school, the kisses in the snow<br />
gather as we dream backwards, sweetness with age:<br />
our legs are young again, our voices<br />
strong and happy, we&#8217;re not afraid.<br />
We don&#8217;t know enough to be afraid.</p>
<p>And now<br />
we hold (hidden, hopeless) the hope<br />
that some day<br />
she may fly in our plane<br />
enter our building        read our poem</p>
<p>And that night, deep in her dream,<br />
Sally, far in darkness, in Topeka,<br />
with the salesman lying beside her,<br />
will cry out<br />
our unfamiliar name.<br />
&#8220;Everything We Do&#8221; by Peter Meinke, from Liquid Paper: New and Selected Poems. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 1991.</p>
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