Day 25 of #the100dayproject

Color in Winter

Red dress, streak of rain,
late winter incantation,
a bare branch maple, silhouette
memory of red, sap, and green.

The cherry blossoms haven’t come.
But there, a woman walking in the grass,
her dress like lipstick red tulips,
each fold of fabric, a petal.

Tulips once drove a country into madness.
In such a dun-colored place,
color can create a hunger for summer,
for the hot sun, respite from the heart of cold.

The woman turns, flourishes her dress,
half gone, it flashes like traffic lights
on wet pavement, stretching
into darkness at midnight.

If only the red could heat the earth,
force the cherries into bloom,
help the crocuses to push up
their spots of color, their docile heads.

Day 24 of #the100dayproject

The Craft

Writing is a persistent sport.
There is no peak age,
there is no zenith.

Just the day-to-day plodding.
The chair, the pen, the time,
towards an undefined meandering.

Despite the blood and work,
through all the sleepless nights,
there is never a guarantee of words.

Day 23 of #the100dayproject

I am therefore

I am the paradox
I am the word
The metaphor
The energy within a poem
I am the absent and the obsessed
I am the absence of words
I am the blank space between words
I am also the ink.
I am the pause.
I am the exhale.
I am the inhale.

Day 22 of #the100dayproject

Some thoughts...

The difference between a first draft and a revised draft is passion and intention. In revision, passion is tempered by intention.

I dreamed that the crown molding had arms reaching, stretching toward another arm. Trying to touch, to make contact. A yearning.

These are the chambers of my mind, wandering through the echoes of memory. Some of the memories are my own, some are not. Some of them are borrowed.

Day 21 of #the100dayproject

The Boys

The boys used to knock on my window. And I would bask in their pre-pubescent beauty, dream they would kiss me through the window screen as if I were Rapunzel. I would let down my hair and follow them through the forest and eat berries that they handed to me. I would fall under their spell and we would grab fistfuls of leaves and wear them as clothes, camouflage our growing bodies. We would play at war and at life. I would sweep the forest floor with branches, they would bring me their trophies. I would challenge them with my imagination. We would climb the fir trees and steal cherries from the crows. We said no to nothing. Always yes yes yes. Until they packed their bags, all the while saying no no no. I said no no no. And that was the last thing we ever said to each other.

Day 20 of #the100dayproject