Sunday Poetry: Shards of Stained Glass

Welcome to Sunday Poetry.  We began last month, and if you didn’t join us then, don’t worry.  This is a drop-in, drop-out adventure.  You can read about the purpose and inspiration behind Sunday Poetry here.    

What’s your part?  Just slow down a little and come along for the read.  If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored.  But there are no demands or imperatives.   The photo on today’s blog will appear each Sunday along with a poem’s link.  Out of respect for copyright, I won’t be posting the poem of the day on the blog, but it will be just one easy click away.  If I have something to add, I will.   If you have something to add, please do.

Today’s poem is The Hymn of a Fat Woman by Joyce Huff.  It called out to me since I decided to start charting calories at Spark People on my battle to losing an unwanted ten pounds.  Then it called out to me because it reminded me so strongly of my mother, gone now, but whose birthday would have been this week.  Mom, who was more given to puns than poetry, would have understood this one.  She would have smiled. You’ll find it and many other wonderful poems at the Poetry 180 website.


  1. Emilie Richards on April 17, 2011 at 7:20 am

    My mother, product of Catholic schools, often told the story of a day when the nuns came into church where all the girls in her class were seated. Their purpose was to talk about their calling and do a little recruiting. At some point a sister went down the aisle pointedly asking each girl if she might be thinking about the religious life. My mom was sitting between two girlfriends, giggling because her shoe had a crooked bow. When the nun got to her, she took one look at Mom and passed right over her. This poem brought back that memory. Mom, who always battled her weight, would never have slipped through these gates. She, too, would have been sitting outside them, but more likely with a hot fudge sundae.

  2. Lynn Ross on April 17, 2011 at 7:44 am

    I love your mom!! She and I would have fit just fine. Lucky you to only need to lose ten pounds. I know you will make your goal with all your self-discipline. To be such a successful writer, you would have a lot of that. 🙂 That poem was written especially for me.

    • Emilie Richards on April 17, 2011 at 7:50 am

      I’m so glad you liked it. By the way, my mother loved Meadville. Of course she never visited us in the winter.

  3. Kay Myhrman-Toso on April 17, 2011 at 8:10 am

    “I do not think I would find anyone like me.” Isn’t this so often our inner angst? What does it take to be welcomed; to belong? Not surprisingly – since I’m involved in children’s ministry – my thoughts turned to kids & the church. To folks who bemoan the lack of children in churches, I often reply, “Are you only welcoming stained glass window children?” You know, the kids who are silent, unmoving, and who act pious. They certainly don’t giggle over crooked bows! Me? I’m outside with the hot fudge sundae kids, swinging from that apple tree!

  4. Sharon Scott on April 17, 2011 at 10:02 am

    Thank you Emilie for the Sunday morning smile. I too am at that tree, and my hands and face are all sticky from the fruit. I thank you for the website too, I have subscribed to daily poems and look forward to receiving them. Have a blessed day.

  5. IrishApples on April 17, 2011 at 4:38 pm

    Emilie – I love this poem because I am that woman on the outside.

  6. Linda P. on April 20, 2011 at 1:47 pm

    I’ve been out of town, and getting caught up. I’d be on the outside piling on more whipped cream for all of us! Now, I’m going to have to look up diety and diet – I am really giggling!!

    • Emilie Richards on April 20, 2011 at 1:53 pm

      They do have low-far whipped cream, I’m told.

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