Transcript
Uncle (0:00)
I' ma put you on, nephew.
Nephew (0:01)
All right, unc.
Micah Keelvan (0:02)
Welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order, miss?
Uncle (0:04)
I've been hitting up McDonald's for years. Now it's back. We need snack wraps.
Nephew (0:08)
What's a snack wrap?
Uncle (0:09)
It's the return of something great.
Nephew (0:11)
Snack wrap is back.
Hershey's Advertiser (0:16)
Hershey's Milk chocolate with whole almonds makes for a wholly amazing, wholly delicious experience that's well holy Hershey's. Everyone's to get to experience the satisfying surprise of a whole almond tucked inside creamy Hershey's chocolate. So don't wait your whole life to try Hershey' Milk chocolate with whole almonds. And if you've already had it, then chances are you're already a lifelong fan of this confectionary delight. Find Hersey's milk chocolate with whole almonds wherever candy is sold.
Micah Keelvan (0:46)
Hey, it's producer Micah Keelvan. Thanks for staying tuned as we get ready to return with a new host. Last spring, the Slowdown team and I asked you to help us select for the podcast to send in poems that have helped you slow yourself down. It was such a beautiful way to connect with our community that we wanted to reshare these episodes. Here's one of our community curators to share what's special about their submission.
Janine Hall (1:10)
My name is Janine Hall. Hal Gailey. I live in Woodinville, Washington. This poem really fits the Slowdown because it's dark and funny the first time you read it. You can understand everything it says and you can understand it at a certain level. But the more you go back and read it and think about it, like it really has these dark, twisty turns that you're like, oh, what was that poem really about? Which is something I love. Love can hurt. You're like, oh, that's sort of innocuous. Then you're like, is it an innocuous what do we do for love?
Major Jackson (1:39)
Good depression.
Nephew (1:49)
I'm Major Jackson, and this is the Slowdown. My friend once said to me, I no longer think of Wolf Girl. Wolf Girl, I replied. She clarified, oh, that's the name I've given my ex. You know, wolf in sheep's clothing. We laughed. I heard a lightness in her voice where before for over a year, I heard pain and resentment. This person's deception and abandonment of my friend cut deep. She lost a serious amount of weight and became reclusive. It seemed she could only muster enough energy to care for her cat and just barely herself. During their early days together. I recall my friend floating above ground in joy. In the beginning to get closer to her. She learned all of her favorite teams, their players, their stats. As long as I knew my friend, she had disavowed sports in the relationship. She never let an occasion go by to make this person feel cherished. Birthdays, yes, but even her pet's adoption day. She showed up with specially wrapped treats and toys. She cleaned out a section of her closet for when her partner visited. She practically built a temple to her by placing pictures everywhere around her apartment. Her family thought she was dating a narcissist with governing tendencies. Her closest girlfriends tried to sound the alarm. But some life moments have to play out to their gory end. Sometimes our only intervention is a loving attentiveness, a willingness to listen and comfort when the time comes. What is it about this stage of dating that has us turn off the radar, render us blind to the red flags, to what we hope our instincts should catch? We become wild in our desperation to present ourselves as worthy of love. Our passionate hearts render us prey to the lost souls who present facades of well being. Today's allegorical poem captures the staggering wisdom of finding and losing love. As we learn about another, we learn as much about ourselves and the dialectical role of endings. Hunger By Kelly Russell Agadon if we never have enough love, we have more than most. We have lost dogs in our neighborhood and wild coyotes, and sometimes we can't tell them apart. Sometimes we don't want to. Once I brought home a coyote and told my lover we had a new pet until it ate our chickens, our ducks, and our cat. Sometimes we make mistakes and call them coincidences. We hold open the door, then wonder how, how the stranger ended up in our home. There is a woman on our block who thinks she is feeding bunnies, but they are large rats without tails. Remember the farmer's wife? Remember the carving knife? We are all trying to change what we fear into something beautiful. But even rats need to eat. Even rats and coyotes and the bones on the trail could be the bones on our plates. I ordered cornish hen. I ordered duck. Sometimes love hurts. Sometimes the lost dog doesn't want to be found. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Family Foundation. This project is also supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts. On the web@arts.gov to get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram at slowdownshow. The Slowdown is written by me, Major Jackson. Our lead producer is Micah Kilbon and our associate producer is Maria Wartel. Our music is composed by Alexis Cuadrado, engineering by Eric Romani and Josh Savageau. Our digital producer is James Napoli. Additional production help by Charlotte Traver, Susanna Sharpless, Jess Miller, and Lauren Humpert. Our executives in charge of APM Studios are Chandra Kavati and Joanne Griffith.
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