Our (optional, as always) prompt for the day is taken from one of the prompts that Kwoya Fagin Maples suggests in here interview: a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”

“Everything means something” she said, pen pausing long enough for her to speak. She looked at me over a pair of reading glasses and a legal pad. The light from the tiffany desk lamp to her left, gleamed yellow across her lap, illuminating the legal pad and her nails as she wrote. She’d offered to review my dreams with me and was writing the details down as I spoke

I’d paused, and hesitated over a detail, deciding out loud whether or not I should include it in the retelling of this dream

I’d been coming weekly for a couple of months

And the more I spoke, the more I realized that I understood quite a lot and quite a little of myself

Without aggrandizing my own state of mind too much, I’ll tell you that delving into your own mind is like a competent sailor plunging into the depths of his beloved sea

On the surface he understands the waves and the wind and the nautical relation from one shore to the next. He can reasonably predict the response of his ship in the presence of any given weather scenario, the strength of his sails, the direction of his vessel and himself according to the map of stars that unfold when night descends

But outside of the bones of his ship, outside  the boughs and the sails, no sextant, no compass, alone in the cold sea water, pale body floating and bobbing at the surface, miles and miles of deep blue below him, he is alone, and entirely new way to navigate will be imagined

His body and mind, the only tools

So I described the tiny detail in the dream that I’d almost skipped over, and she nodded as she wrote, the tip of the cap of her pen bending in air, dipping and tipping, giving ink-shape to the details of my dreams

And as I heard myself speaking, heard my voice giving sound to the details of my dreams, I saw a white and iridescent little fish with the scrunched up face of monster, swim by

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2017, action healing, awakening, Being a nurse, Being a poet, Fear, Growth, NaPoWriMo, NaPoWriMo2018, Personal Experiences, seeking, signs, summer, the color of moments, vignettes

NaPoWriMo Day Eleven: The State Of The Union Of Body And Mind

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Evening, Heartbreak, NaPoWriMo, NaPoWriMo2018, Personal Experiences, spring, the color of moments, vignettes

NaPoWriMo Day Ten: In The House On Sagamore

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.

 

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Kairos, love, NaPoWriMo 2017, Personal Experiences, summer, the color of moments, vignettes

Leaves Of Night

Our sentences hung suspended in the summer air

We’d been there for hours on the driveway,  nursing beers that had long lost their chill,  hoping to outwit the wind of time

But the moment arrived, as it always would

I’d said so many things so many times

We’d had so many nights to hide-and-seek, and chase our friendship, like children chasing lightening bugs in the dark

We’d had this thing catch in our chests before

But tonight, it was different

A time was coming

The moon illuminated your profile the way it always had

And you turned to me, an expression breaking over your face, the way it always had

And the sweetness that pushed from out the full blue of your eyes did the same, mundane thing of leveling me, of clearing everything out of me, making only this moment new, the way it always had

There wasn’t any more I could say

And there was so much more, but the things were huge

The things that I carried in my heart for you were huge and there wasn’t anything else I could say without leveling us both, clearing everything out of us both, making only this moment new

And you knew

And we sat very still, in the chairs that I’d pulled out for us

The breath of us both lifting into the stars

But the night held its breath

And then from out of the dark surrounding yards someone yawped

A drunken yawp–loud!! Like a ship’s slug horn, breaking into the night then withering to an end

It startled us both, our shoulders jumped

Your eyes widened and searched the dark

My heart quickened and then felt warm with adrenaline, and laughed… loudly

And you imitated the sound

And then we both laughed, comforted by the interruption

And I thought, right then, that we’d be bound  forever by the hours of this night

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