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snowfall leaves a trace,
the lines rolling like wheat tops over roads, dry crystalline flakes grow across my windshield, elegant and (maybe) dangerous ©Erin Croley (from a #capturedpoets prompt)
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with a fierce sun
and icy roads, we travel to avoid the chin chafe of a coat zipped high and opt instead for the cheek burn of cold wind ©Erin Croley (from a #capturedpoets Twitter prompt) the delicate peel
of a clementine resting whole in my palm is often enough to carry me to Rome in another life they were designed to fly away ©Erin Croley (from a #WrittenRiver Twitter prompt) at 4pm
he didn't need the moonlight to fall asleep only the road's constant hum but now near midnight the streets are too icy so I'm hoping my heartbeat will suffice ©Erin Croley (from a Twitter #HomoAquarius prompt) In flight to Vegas
I decide it's the petite blond reading Nora Roberts and listening to unknown music through headphones from her pink-cased iPhone who is responsible for the waves of disturbing flatulence, so strong I cover my nose with my sleeves. nothing was said
but twice I sang as John Cusack held his arms up to my car stereo so Peter Gabriel could transform that simple route into a path of endless lights ©Erin Croley a crow's nest view
of the Croatan Sound trades blue for grapefruit signals the tide of night and lures us to the water's edge for (just one more) sunset ©Erin Croley I was introduced to the poetry of Michelle Boisseau when her husband was a professor of mine at the University of Missouri, Columbia. He was an energetic linguist who made me love the OED and diagramming sentences so complex we had to paste paper together across a classroom wall for them to make sense. He mentioned once or twice that his wife was a poet, so I investigated and bought one of her books. Understory. It is her second book, and quickly became one of my favorites. This poem, unnatural nature, was inspired by Blood Sonata from Understory.
Written long before I had my own children, it highlights a belief that each new adventure started, or part left behind, was some sort of "birth". It was like starting over. But this isn't really what becoming a mother is like at all. When I gave birth, I didn't begin again, I reconnected to my past more concretely. Like the double helix of our DNA, my life as a mother now spirals upward connecting to all the people and moments that defined me, over and over, through multiple dimensions. To be honest, I don't really like this poem. I'm not sure where I was going with it, or maybe am just too disconnected from it, but I do like what it reminds me of. I'm not sure it will remind anyone else about anything at all, though. Every time I open up this post, I make a revision to it. Who knows which version you are reading. window down
feet on the dash leaning back against the rest I close my eyes and hope my husband wakes me if we pass roadside peaches ©Erin Croley it's time to replant
these highways anew, harvest billboards, and reclaim the view ©Erin Croley |
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