Poetry Corner - Monsoon

My first year back to school has officially come to an end! :::confetti::: I completed my last final exam last night, and now I am free for the summer. I haven’t had a moment to decompress and let it sink in yet, but I’m pretty happy to be done for a few months. The idea of getting out of work and being able to do whatever I desire is thrilling! I will have lots of extra time to devote to writing without all that pesky homework to be done. I also plan to spend a lot of time taking better care of myself – cooking more, exercising, reading, and relaxing. I kept telling myself over the past week, “Just get through this and then you can pay attention to yourself again.” Sometimes life requires us to run on all cylinders, but it is so important to regroup and recharge when you can. I’m looking very forward to it!

In lieu of a final in my writing class, we turned in portfolios that contained samples of our writing in three genres: non-fiction, fiction, and poetry. We studied poetry during the last few weeks of class and I was initially not very excited about it. I know it is cliché, but I always considered myself one of those people who just doesn’t “get” poetry. I feel very differently now! Aside from reading some amazing poetry by some incredible poets (Elizabeth Bishop, James Merrill, and DH Lawrence were my faves), I found that I really enjoy writing it as well. It came as a complete shock to me. I decided to start a new series here called “Poetry Corner” and share some of what I wrote. I still don’t purport to be a poet, but I’m having fun giving it a try!

Those of you in Tucson will hopefully be able to relate to the sense memories that inspired this first poem. Let me know what you think! And this weekend, I will be posting the first installment of a series that I’ve been working on with my sister, Bree. I am so pleased with how it turned out; I think you will all really enjoy it! Happy Friday    

Photo by Johnny Thornton

Monsoon

The sky is one big sheet of dark grey dryer lint,

complex nervous systems of bright-white lightning

intermittently asserting their presence. A sound, just like the crack

of a baseball bat, catches me off guard, makes me spill a little

beer on my dress. It gently settles into a rumble that echoes

through the valley. The wind will become so intense

that it rips trees right out of the ground. The corpses and their

exposed roots will litter roadsides for weeks to come. For now,

it just makes swirling groups of garbage dance down the street.

I’m on my porch in a wooden chair, stubbing out a Camel Light in

my metal ashtray from Bisbee, breathing deeply so as to

absorb the sweet scent of the creosote bushes, trying desperately

to make the scent a part of me, inextricable from my memory.

Finally, the water begins to fall, in small droplets at first

and then in big, fat, all-encompassing blobs. The pavement

seems to hiss and steam with gratitude, some relief from the oppressive

heat of another desert summer. I watch the dark spots

on the concrete sidewalk multiply in numbers, reaching

out to one another, uniting as one. A creek, and then a river,

runs through the gutters and I giggle, giddy.

I want to wrap my arms around this in a suffocating embrace. 

I want to take this with me when I go.