I brought poetry to the breakfast table.
Tomorrow is a newspaper delivery day but I may just toss it, bag and all, into the recycling bin.
AND THEN, THERE WERE THREE... BY ANITA N VOELKER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 23
Pigs, mice, bears, and other sets of three charm the pages of literature. But when my town’s daily newspaper moved to a three-day a week delivery, I was far from enchanted. Someone once told me that a new habit requires a three-week commitment. Trusting the magical number three, I waited faithfully for 21 days to pass. But on the 22nd day, I still longed to hear the daily slap of the paper hitting my driveway. Perhaps, I was misinformed; maybe it was three months, not three weeks. When March became April, I was still a lost soul at the kitchen table without my morning paper. Despite using my iPad to visit the newspaper’s website, I continued to lament the sensation of paper pages while sipping coffee. I substituted magazines with moderate success. But the newspaper-shaped hole in my heart would not mend.