been to this juncture three times before.
Never with the boost of so many prompts
my friends think I’m crazy but I love to write
poetry is never as good as when completely spontaneous.
But I love this time every year.
Bleary eyed and wiped I roll over one more time on the alarm clock
this time, knowing it’s the last one this 24 hours, I struggle to find any inspiration
missed a couple in the middle of the night hours
had to catch up
falling asleep as I typed
words come words go but hearts stay open
Caitlin and Jacob hold us in a perfect container
And another one down and another one down
we did it
It wasn’t easy but we made it through together
food was scarce
new clothes a luxury
held by the arms of many mothers we knew love
and they knew all of our bedtimes
nature here is nothing like the mountains fresh with dew in the morning
air conditioners drop fluid in strange places
bags of garbage rustle with the contents of rodentia feasts
And the jungle of concrete holds secrets they never tell you
she was tiny when she came to Live with us
perfectly dressed in her little black coat
she never really acted her age
instead of playing and frolicking as one did then
she mostly kept to herself but for when accompanying our son on adventures
Her own adventures proved not all Kitties are wanton killers…
In the wee hours of the night the standstill can be deafening
The others on the way have the same
work to keep up with
knowing they are there, makes the final hour worth heading toward.
Lonely in the quiet of the creative night there is no alone and the sun doesn’t set on creativity.
Let it flow forth in all of its bumbling beauty
She opened the letter wondering the occasion.
Her dear friend never wrote, much less made it to post—must be some occasion.
Before reading any words, the picture fell from the envelope. The Grand Canyon, Cynthia in the bottom left corner, gazing at that coveted view.
How dare she?
How dare she send such a photo having made the final decision not to go on their trip across the country?
Who took the picture and why did I get a copy?
Slowly slipping the photo back in the envelope, she tucked it away.
That was for another time.
And so was a visit to the canyon.
dear she who is about to complete the Poetry Marathon,
Let your nimble fingers dance upon the keys, there are only a few more hours before the sun hits the horizon and nine am comes.
You’ve been through some trenches and come out the other side. This too shall pass.
If you let your eyes rest and they arrived somewhere inside of a Dream don’t fret, your awakening will come when the clock stops counting and so do you.
You are about to have accomplished something only few attempt and even less understand.
It’s a Brave new world
with the guts to navigate it
We set out to cross the country in three days.
Three of us and
a new boyfriend in his car
a sack full of cassettes
And barely enough prerolled joints to make it all bearable
We made it all the way to the canyon just eighty miles out of the way
dates, and destinations aside, the Grand Canyon calls any plan to distraction
but not ours
The vote won to meet a date set in proverbial stone
i considered setting out alone
never made it