Is 40 the age when women start turning into their mothers? Because I’ve been playing around with writing some poems lately. My mom has always loved reading and writing poetry, whereas I’ve been a little indifferent to it. As a teenager, I do remember reading a book by Billy Collins one summer and liking it. And then there was the old, red pocket poetry volume that had belonged to my grandfather. Every now and then, I’d enjoy flipping through its yellowing pages. There were pictures of each poet in the back. James Joyce with his eyepatch and dapper little bow tie. Edith Sitwell looking like a spooky Medieval witch. Rudyard Kipling looking a bit like Wilford Brimley. They were fascinating, to say the least, but I didn’t really see myself in any of their faces.
Anyway, it’s been nice on some busier days to write something bite-size, like a poem. I’m not sure if they’re any good, but maybe that’s not the point. There’s a sign at our library that says something like, “Make art! Do it bad! Do it now!” I love the idea that art can be more about the process than the product. Not everything you make has to be great (whatever that means). It’s okay to create something just for the fun of it, as a form of therapy or stress relief, or any other reason you choose. Write yourself a permission slip to “do it bad” and see what takes shape!
So, here’s a poem I wrote recently. Enjoy! Or don’t—it’s all good!😉
CLOUDBURST
I’ll always remember how happy I was
to see Thomas at freshman orientation.
The only person I knew from home.
We were seventeen and free,
in that place where you can almost
touch the sky.
The earth seemed to vibrate with life.
Maybe it was the thrill of youth.
Or maybe it was that weird tourist attraction,
the hill where they claimed gravity
ceased to exist.
We walked a very long way
to buy pizza together.
On the way back, the clouds burst,
and it seemed a delightful adventure
to run across campus in the rain.
Back then, every beginning
seemed to stretch out
to eternity.
I thought surely our friendship was sealed,
but I was wrong.
Not every sudden downpour
is a sign from the heavens.
Or, then again,
maybe it is.
