(Sometimes things just appear in the Chromebook photo files.)
Today’s prompt, two for Tuesday, is to write an honest and/or a dishonest poem. This is something of an experiment. This is not about anyone I know personally. She is more of an idea, or an idea of an idea. I don’t know if I am saying what I mean, or making up a meaning by saying.
I knew a woman
honest as the rain,
honest as the bluest sky,
whose hands opened and closed
like petals in the sun.
And we were all afraid of her,
of the scorch and the soak of her,
the blinding goodness of her.
We all harbored our demons in secret,
nourished them in those secret rooms
under the quiet earth,
deep in our shadowselves.
And still she came seeking us,
always revealing us,
breaking down the doors of us.
‘Til there was nothing but blue sky,
rain in the mornings,
and her hands, closing and opening.
And we were no more.
1. My voice. I have lost it at the moment, and am suddenly grateful for the gift of speech.
2. People who try to understand others in a situation rather than try to establish their rights in the situation.
3. The green and reddish frosting on the woods that cover the hills by the River.
4. How sounds carry meaning. I am grateful for the way this job of teaching English keeps me always aware of language, of sound and meaning.
5. Jamming on the violin with Ellis on the cello. We’re incredibly squeaky, but we like the way we sound together.
May we walk in Beauty!