Child Craft, Vol. 1
Nights she read from it, shared her beloveds— her tired voice graveling down, her voice a well that drew us in and down and echoed back its limits, the pages overlaid with scribbles, Spirographed and bulls-eyed, its dull orange spine shattered from using it as home plate, as placemat, as food. Still the poems thrived there, the verses stained, the pictures, like the world, unambiguous— clear blue for children's eyes and sky, red for cloaks, and purple for the cow, the lines assured us, we'd rather see than be.
2 replies on “Child Craft, Vol. 1”
My mother had the whole set of Child Craft books and read to me endlessly from them. They were my introduction to poetry.
A delight. I read Child Craft books whenever I went to stay with my Aunt Mary, who’d bought them for her two girls and two boys, cousins who didn’t seem to be interested in them.