Finally, here is our (optional) daily prompt. Usually, we take inspiration from our craft resource, but since our resource is about revision, we’ll go a bit further afield for this one! Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of simultaneity – in which multiple things are happing at once. A nice example might be Emily Dickinson’s “I heard a Fly buzz – when I died”, or this powerful poem by Sarah Green.
“Its supposed to be the color just before night. Twilight,” she said as she lead me through the hallway, referring to the paint along the walls. Dark. Not quite black, but deep and indigo and grey
There were little boxes and beautiful art and flowers and all things curiously femininely accmulated throughout the span of the house
Antique notecards and spools of thread and framed blueprints and rusted tin water pitchers stuffed with sticks, and a chandelier with antlers and a thick, part-tapestry-part leather couch, on one of it’s sturdy stuffed cushions, a folded newspaper set towards the edge
I was having a hard time not staring, at everything. Corners and crannies all curated. Treasures and incidental finds. All little key-hole glimpses into her mind. And into the shadows of a heart whose shape she rarely used words to describe
So curious. Someone so lovely, so contained of tongue, yet so expressive with things. I on the other hand, blather on clumsily. Never giving anyone anytime to even guess
It was the week after Easter. The Sunday where rebirth is celebrated, but for me, the cold week, the days after, meant bewilderment, confusion, clingy–grasping at anything in the dark like Paul, blinded
She handed me the can of paint and told me how beautiful my walls would be paired with gold picture frames. I nodded and held the small can of paint in my hand. I thanked her and told her next time, we wouldn’t wait so long to catch up.