Hour Eleven
I prepared for two whole days before this marathon. I reviewed my poetry already written, reviewed old prompts from past years and played with possibilities, wrote a couple poems for practice. I was totally on board and ready for today. Then I woke up with a very sore throat, ten minutes before the first one was due, and dragged myself to my computer. Despite everything, I could not stay awake and could not think poetic thoughts, could not feel any emotions aside from a desperate need to go back to bed. I stayed with it for three hours anyway. I am disappointed, deeply sad that this event that was so important to me could not go as planned.
After sleeping a few hours, I still don’t feel great, but at least I’m not falling asleep on my keyboard and waking up with seventeen rows of the letter N where a poem should be.
I have reviewed the prompts given, and the one that spoke to me the most so far was Hour Five, a childhood memory.
Redwood Cathedral
What do I remember most?
The smell of redwood dust
Every inch of ground was made of
Pulverized redwood from the centuries of rotting logs
It was a summer campground under tall, tall trees
Many numbered clearings formed the rented sites
Each with water, hookups, a ring of stones
Containing ash and charcoal
Daddy loved to build the fire
Mommy loved to cook over it
What is it about food cooked over fire
That tastes ten times better?
Every campsite backed up to wild redwood forest
Each with a character all its own
Each year, a different site we chose to occupy
Each year, new explorations to be made
The seeming-untouched wildness drew me
I a child of eight or nine or ten
Always in my thick soled flip-flops
Set off alone to see what I could see
Even as a little one I sensed, I loved
How spiritual it felt among the shrubs and ferns
So far below the roof of greenery, the redwood canopy
Perhaps the residue of happy times
Rituals of growth and gratitude and familial love
Practiced by the native peoples who once dwelled
Who worshipped everything they saw and felt
Emotions not unlike the way a child like me
Experienced the green
The sunwashed yellow green above
The dappled ground around me, undisturbed
By any human feet
Yet always full of motion, tiny changes
Full of unexpected wonders
A cathedral built of close set living redwood trees
Standing in a circle close together, so close they all were touching
The stump of long dead mother tree
Inside it, and one gap, one tree
That wasn’t there, as if,
As if to welcome a footed occupant
To come inside, stand against the mother tree
Look up and see
A redwood starburst shape
Converging on a pulsing, sunny center
Brilliant yellow green with beams
That shot down on my head and shoulders
Ever moving, ever changing, warm and sweet
Blessing me like God.
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