it has happened again. smoothly. gracefully this time.
it's not like i was prepared - no paper no pencil as the view inspired the voice that brings the words to the surface that make my poems breathe.
but this time was different.
i spoke up. i asked for help. and i received from a child a piece of paper and a found pen - literally found on the still frozen playground.
and so it began again.
like knowing your gas tank just needs gas in it to work.
i'm working again.
recorded while on duty:
sun shines over/on the icy horizon
trees puffed up like fur on
left outside to find its own
trees huddled around the frozen field
kids skipping beside snowbanks
sad remains in the background - abandoned snowmen
their carcasses melted into the ground
returning to landscape
my fingers are turning into
icicles as I record these images
before they melt into memory
soccer ball chipping
across the frozen field
stoic pilons frozen in space
hoodies barely able to
contain body heat
long enough to
release the ball
March 25, 2015
inspired by reading Natalie Goldberg's "Writing Down the Bones"
and feeling the ripple effect of SARK's wordplay:
and by my husband who has started to archive/record all lyrics with music to keep them alive and breathing.
my next bold move to continue the courting is to put a notebook and pen into a pocket of each of my coats!