"Juggling Parenthood at Seventy" -- My Poem in New Feathers Anthology

There are many forms now of having a poem published, and some of them are online -- but New Feathers Anthology also produces a printed collection each year of some of its poems. I am very excited that "Juggling Parenthood at Seventy" is on page 133!

If you are a poetry nerd, you may recognize the form "underneath" this poem: It's "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop and begins, "The art of losing isn't hard to master." One of the techniques that the formidable poetry professor Ellen Bass teaches is taking such a poem and writing your own version, a sort of homage but also a set of training wheels. Since I love "One Art," I chose to work from its pattern.

Then, as you might pick up, I also was thinking of those "directions" for how to juggle. I tried once! I was hopeless. But I suspect that, like parenting, you can read tons of instructions but the reality will always be different, and you have to adapt and get used to it. I never gave the juggling enough of a chance ... but parenting, well, yes, I'm still doing that. Many of you will know exactly the feeling.

 

Juggling Parenthood at Seventy 

[published in New Feathers Anthology, August 2025]

 

The diagrams suggest it isn’t hard:

you start with all three balls, and toss the first

release the second, pass the third—it’s art—

then you believe you’re ready for the next.

 

I start the day with all the balls in hand

prepared to just confirm I’ve found the art

where I believe I’m ready for the next

demand for help from one of my grown sons.

 

Release my expectations, trust the art:

I set them free to fly, I gave them wings.

I ache each time they cry for help, grown sons

who stumble and who bleed, for love’s own sake.

 

I raised them well and saw them claim their wings,

each full of confidence and boundless hope—

convinced that love could raise them like an art.

I blame myself each time they crash and cry.

 

How can I feed fresh confidence and hope?

Release them, give them freedom, though it hurts—

when will they rise, instead of crash and cry?

The diagram suggests it isn’t hard.

 

 BK

 

What If Aging Means Less Juggling? Novels, Poems, Feature Articles, History ...

I have never learned to juggle. I've watched a few people learn it, and it didn't seem terrible -- but as someone who can barely catch a basketball, grabbing smaller items out of the air isn't likely. Actually I don't throw very well, either. (Don't ask about the company baseball team, back in 1973 or so.)

Maybe you have read the "how" of juggling? I leaned on such book-learning for writing "Juggling Parenthood at Seventy," which is in the most recent issue of New Feathers Anthology - you can read it here (it's short). I was thrilled that New Feathers asked for a second poem, too, which again is set in my part of parenting "adult children." (Yes, it's here.)

With the onset of my seventies, I notice changes in how I move, which is no surprise. I'm losing some speed and coordination, but not, thank goodness, determination.

What scares me more than the physical changes are mental ones. I worry each time I can't pull up a word or remember why I was headed into another room. It seems that most of my similar-aged friends have the same worry ... none of us want to become dependent on others for basic life, and that's what those little glitches seem to threaten.

But I can't live under threat as a mood. It's terrible for writing. So I'm trying to be practical, the way I was when I got rid of the last throw rug (I loved it, but throw rugs are a Big Problem in terms of falling, "they" say.)

For writing, that means sometimes narrowing the range of what I'm working on. With the gracious collaboration of editor/publisher Justin Lavely, I'm taking a break from feature articles for The North Star Monthly for a few months at least, and I'm not rushing to write another novel. Instead, I'm making a lot of room for poems. There are scraps and Post-it notes and lists all over this home, with metaphors, bits of lines, ideas for structure. It's working! Maybe I should have tried this sooner.

Meanwhile, though, I'm watching how the novels are reaching readers. If you live in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom, you can buy a copy of The Bitter and the Sweet easily in St. Johnsbury or Lyndonville (thank you, Boxcar & Caboose, and Green Mountain Books). But you might not have heard: I was able to regain rights to the first two books in the series, The Long Shadow and This Ardent Flame, and Speaking Volumes has them back in print, with covers that match the ebooks. You can get the lovely softcovers at those same two bookstores -- and of course, order them in any other bookshop, in person or online.

There's some relief in not juggling as much: I don't worry about hard rubber balls landing on my head. But can I stick with just poetry? Umm, no. Watch for news about a huge historical research project in the wings.