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Maurice Sendak’s classic children’s book Where the Wild Things Are was a staple in our house when our kids were young. So, of course, when the movie adaptation came out, we had to see it. And, when I spotted the novel by Dave Eggers further expanding the story of Max and the Wild Things, I could not resist. All of which sets me to contemplating the simple story of a young, angst-ridden boy who rails against the complications of the adult world and escapes (by sailboat “in and out of weeks and almost over a year”) to a place inhabited by wild creatures with long claws and sharp, pointy teeth. Seeing the world from Max’s viewpoint is refreshing in a way. There are things in life that aren’t fair, that make us feel rage, that make us want to howl and stomp our feet. Max does just that. In the novel when Max goes outside “for a quick bike ride before dinner,” Eggers writes, “It was a quiet night and he wanted to slash it open with his own voice.”

tossing a lid
into the cabinet
full of plastic
I long to hear
a plate shatter

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