Per Christa's request, I'm posting the poem I wrote in the park yesterday as I waited for our writing meeting to start. It was such a nice day outside...I was sitting underneath a tree (don't know what kind...maple, maybe?) that was just starting to turn red from yellow. I was determined not to write about it, it was so beautiful! I wanted to see if I could focus on anything else!

I'm not feeling any creative inspiration today, probably because I haven't done much reading, but it's making me feel a little blue. Guess I'll go read?


I wish I wasn’t alone,
wish I couldn’t
see my shadow,
wish I could say wild dogs
were chasing me away.
I wish I could say
there was a book
in my hands
but I’m alone in the park
sitting on soggy grass
watching a hornet
crawl over its nest.
I wish I were a hornet
relatives packed around me
like clothes in a suitcase
but I am solitary
heavy in the mud
and just as ugly as
I can imagine.
I wish I were a squirrel
or a scarf
always running around myself
I wish I were a dirt path
or a harmonica
something people could use
This poem means
I am not winter
I am not frost or rain
I will always have a face and hands
and these two responsible arms
I will always be dying or dead
I will always be born
I will never be something as useful
as turbulence or teeth
or anything else that shines.


CWrites said…
Hey!! Thanks for heeding my request. Love this poem. I'm fighting the urge to fall back into my non-writing slump again. Can I please get a relationship with consistency??!! Great poem Abby!

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