The weather was so warm over the weekend. And then, around two o’clock this morning, a wild storm brought winter back.

Ah, well. Guess we’ll just have to wait.

Perhaps there were similarly fluid weather conditions when Mom wrote this sonnet, called “Waiting Is Winter,” in April of 1949, while a freshman at Saint Joseph College. (You remember sonnets, right? Traditionally, a sonnet is a 14-line poem written in iambic pentameter. It follows a specific rhyming pattern and focuses on a single topic.)

I was moving some of Mom’s books around this evening and saw a bookmark poking out from this volume:

Mom’s copy of the 1950 Modern American Verse was an early version, sent to her for proofreading purposes.

Opening the book to page 156, I had to smile when a smudge toward the bottom caught my eye. I can imagine that young poet at her typewriter (with its ever-slipping ribbon) dashing over to search for her about-to-be-published poem in the hard-covered book the moment it arrived.

It was such an exciting time for Mom, as she also got word that autumn that her poem “David” (another sonnet) was going to be published in Seventeen Magazine.

This photo appeared in the popular magazine as well (and they were kind enough to send it back):

Her school’s newspaper – The Targe – provided some additional information about the book and its editor:

Waiting Is Winter

Waiting is winter. And I know her flash
Of frost when dawn is sleepy-eyed and dumb;
Then every breath is overborn and rash,
And every thought revolves on; he will come.
Waiting is long sometimes. She is harsh and
Hard as winter letters. She is nursed by
Tears and silence; by frigid dreams that stand
On sun-born hills where wild winds scorn their cry.
I know her well. Waiting is like a sob
That knows no meaning but the sudden death
Of promise. She is consternation’s throb;
So youth must feel the turning of a breath.
Waiting is winter. But the seasons tell
Of timeless pattern: Spring is loved so well.

~ Joan Cassidy, April 1949 class assignment for Mr. Sullivan

Addendum

A few days after posting this story, I came across these two additional items:

Here’s the letter of acceptance sent by the anthology’s editor:

And here’s an early version of Mom’s poem, still in draft form:

Those pencil marks throughout Mom’s poem? They’re part of scansion, explained here, which in part helps the reader know where emphasis is placed with each word’s syllables. It’s mathematical, in a way, in determining a poem’s rhythm, thereby bridging poetry with music and math.

“Waiting Is Winter” © 1949 Joan Cassidy Vayo. All rights reserved.

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