Apr9Poetry - Go out into it

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry inspiration was suggested by the author Jennifer Jacobson:

As a writer of fiction, I’ve long believed in the power of what Pam Houston calls glimmers or what Lynda Berry calls aliveness: objects or snatches of memory that seem to have more staying power . . . perhaps an electrical charge.

Poet, Marie Howe, asks her students to write down ten observations of the actual world. She doesn’t want observations embellished with meaning, but pure descriptions that lead the mind to new ways of seeing. A keyhole if you will. This is harder than it seems.

I spent the day taking notes on things...just trying to pay more attention to the world around me. This intention, in and of itself, seemed like the perfect remedy for this umpteenth day of this pandemic, shelter-in-place, trapped. Trapped but looking and paying attention! Quite fun, really! 

Go Out Into It

Today,
I ran into the early morning rain,

in pajamas and bare feet,

to grab the newspaper, 

before it was soaked.

I jumped back inside

soggy,

cold,

giddy, and

awake.

As a child,

I loved a soaking rain,

water coursing

down the street.

We'd run outside with

plywood scraps from the shed,

and surf the gutters.

I was also

terrified of thunder.

Loud booms

sent me under my bed,

child's pose,

arms wrapped around my head,

seeking refuge.

In what ways am I still a child?

Why have I

mostly

forfeited the play?

Why have I

mostly

kept the fear?

Today,
after the rain,

the wind has raged,

lashing at the awnings,

tumbling the trash cans,

slamming the fence gate.

When it screeched like a tea kettle,

I jumped and

turned to see who was there,

alert.

This wind is the stuff 

of my fears.

It isn't going anywhere.

Not any time soon.

We may not be halfway to calm.

Throw open the door

and go out

into

it.