{"product_id":"9781465335609","title":"Anticipation","description":"\u003ci\u003eAnticipation\u003c\/i\u003e is a book of poetry which, while touching on Marguerite Watkins’ upbringing in India, for the most part is inspired by her life as an adult in America and by her mother’s family stories.  Her first book of poetry, \u003ci\u003ePatterns in Henna\u003c\/i\u003e, contained poems about her memories as the daughter of missionary parents in India and she has also written a memoir, \u003ci\u003eTwo Taproots, Growing Up in the Forties in India and America\u003c\/i\u003e.  The poems in this book deal with the next part of her life. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The author has arranged her poetry into five sections. Section I deals with attitudes towards possessions – things that are more than things. II is about family, especially her mother’s New England relatives since \u003ci\u003ePatterns in Henna\u003c\/i\u003e has poems inspired by her father’s life. In III we hear other voices and see other places, including the author’s impressions when traveling. IV describes the circle of the Virginia seasons and includes several poems about hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  The poetry in V is more contemplative.  The author is older now, more mellow, and comes full circle in her thoughts about life. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  Instead of describing them the author has chosen to share a sample poem from each of the five sections. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cb\u003eSection I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Owl in the Christmas Tree\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  As I crept down the stairs \u003cbr\u003e  to plug in the Christmas lights\u003cbr\u003e  before the children came down,\u003cbr\u003e  two wide topaz eyes stared out \u003cbr\u003e      from the tip of the cedar,\u003cbr\u003e  a small owl barred brown and white\u003cbr\u003e  with talons gripping the star.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e I woke the children,” Look,”\u003cbr\u003e  I breathed, “.look,\u003cbr\u003e  he must have come down the chimney.\u003cbr\u003e  See the flakes of soot on the hearth.”\u003cbr\u003e      We opened the door\u003cbr\u003e  and nudged him with a rake\u003cbr\u003e  until reluctantly he flew into an oak.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e These are the things you live for —\u003cbr\u003e not designer-wrapped gifts,\u003cbr\u003e          the year-end bonus, the red velvet dress,\u003cbr\u003e  but a moment of wonder,\u003cbr\u003e  of surfeit – \u003cbr\u003e  rose-breasted grosbeaks eating holly berries,\u003cbr\u003e  wind rich with the spice of wild azaleas,\u003cbr\u003e full moon through river mist —\u003cbr\u003e     the owl in the Christmas tree.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSection II\u003cbr\u003e  Aisle Eight, Cat Food\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father stands by the cat food display\u003cbr\u003e each Monday. \u003cbr\u003e Carefully dressed in suit and tie,\u003cbr\u003e he brightens when shoppers stop their carts,\u003cbr\u003e gravely gives tips to serious ones\u003cbr\u003e who spend a long time reading labels,\u003cbr\u003e pondering choices,\u003cbr\u003e sardine or shrimp, whitefish or chicken, \u003cbr\u003e flaked or smothered in gravy,\u003cbr\u003e a difficult choice, the menu \u003cbr\u003e for a true patrician.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had a cat, he shyly offers, Premi;\u003cbr\u003e  it means beloved one.\u003cbr\u003e He slept at the foot of my bed,\u003cbr\u003e  and sat on the table to drink the milk\u003cbr\u003e out of my cereal bowl.\u003cbr\u003e No cats at the retirement home, the lady said,\u003cbr\u003e  but Premi died beforehand.\u003cbr\u003e He was old too, you know,\u003cbr\u003e and lame.  Premi was a great hunter in his prime,\u003cbr\u003e stalking a squirrel or chipmunk like a cheetah.\u003cbr\u003e He was that fast!\u003cbr\u003e His favorites were the Nine Lives tuna \u003cbr\u003e and Whiskas chicken  in sauce.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Three aisles over, Mother\u003cbr\u003e selects Campbell's tomato soup for his lunch,\u003cbr\u003e cornmeal muffins, sliced Velveeta, applesauce.\u003cbr\u003e Where's the old gentleman,\u003cbr\u003e the stock boy asks. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  He'll be waiting in pet food, aisle eight,\u003cbr\u003e hoping for someone to come by \u003cbr\u003e who likes to talk about cats. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSection III\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  Camelopard \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  Giraffe, you regard existence \u003cbr\u003e through your fringed Cleopatra eyes.\u003cbr\u003e With Modigliani neck neither stretched nor strained,\u003cbr\u003e your velvet lips select \u003cbr\u003e new growth at the top of an acacia tree,\u003cbr\u003e leaf buds tight and tender as fiddle-heads,\u003cbr\u003e a connoisseur, the gourmand \u003cbr\u003e samp","brand":"Xlibris Corporation","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47107439034608,"sku":"9781465335609","price":8.49,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/9781465335609_p0.jpg?v=1763683660","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/9781465335609","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}