Here's an assignment I loved from a writing class a few years ago: write a poem about a significant event or moment in your life, BUT ONLY write about things surrounding the event. This could mean the environment, setting, place, time, sensory information, other movements or goings-on...just background stuff. But don't reveal the actual event. That said, let your writing take you where it wants to go. If it decides to go there, then I won't condemn you. This is what I wrote then:
Surrounding
The baby was sleeping in my arms
so I had to put him down--
it only hurts when the milk comes in
or if I hold him too long.
It doesn't rain much
but it was pouring.
I had to put the book down too,
binding open,
so I wouldn't lose my place
or my temper.
I'm not sure it worked.
An afternoon downpour.
There was a pumpkin in the kitchen
and bad lighting
but the dishes were clean.
2004
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4 comments:
I'm not sure this fits but here goes;
Interruption
I feel my body shy away from itself
like receding water on a beach.
My focus pulls inward into a corner
inside by head where I wait,
apprehensive, like a child dreading
some fearful thing she has seen before.
Anxiety tenses my chest, presses heavy;
agitated distress begins to build slowly—
too slowly—until, like a bad orgasm
it crests and breaks into moist heat
flushing over and through me like a rogue wave
leaving me awash in its trough to drag myself ashore,
discomfited, emptied, and return to what I was doing.
The Christmas crunch is upon me. Thanks for doing this project. It has kept me thinking. I probably won't post again. Maybe we could continue later. There might be more response with more time for each topic.
Comfort in an Uncomfortable Place.
Little bit fatigued with
fullness in me, i am anxious.
It is dark with lights blinking. I am surprised I don't feel dark, just a blinking pound of headache.
Walking through a tunnel of graffiti, I
sit upon a cushy chair, my legs dangley.
There is pain to be expected and my head is light with apprehension.
Disinfectant and cold metal numb my thoughts.
Voices hushed, and a hand warm yet rough familiar.
And comforting most of all, is his look of concern.
~Hey hope you are feeling better Brooke. Merry Christmas!
Judy -- thanks for being a part of this. I looked forward to your poems each day.
My window faces
the alley's dumpster
not St. Mary's trees
not Fenway's lights
No rock paper scissors
I'm just nice like that,
accommodating. At least
I get the fire escape.
The floor is hard
wood stained and
good for the back
good for lying flat
for lying flat-out
face-flat, arms out
feeling the floor
floundering
My roommate bakes ziti
She'll take it back
to her room and
watch the leaves fall
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