The First Time

The First Time (modeled after Gary Soto’s Oranges)

The first time I saw

my child’s face I was 27

flushed, and sweaty with

the exertion of labor in Texas heat.

May. Flowers blooming

outside my window, my husband

Smiling before me, holding

my hand as I touched her tiny fingers, the one whose

fact of being burned my heart

night and day, in any weather.

The nurse raised her voice at me, until

the rest was done

all blood and tissue, towels crimson

with life. I grimaced,

touched my infant, and turned away

from the ugliness of the delivery room, toward

my future and my present

a newly grown human,

until we three breathed

in unison, a family.

Sore muscles

I've been thinking about using sensory images in my poetry. So, since we had poetry club today, I used some index cards and mined sensory images from this site: http://www.creative-writing-now.com/poem-starters.html to make four-five cards for each sense. Then I had my poets draw as many cards as they wanted, read the ideas and try to create a poem from one or more, concentrating especially on sensory images. I drew "sore muscles" and this is the poem I came up with:

Sore Muscles

Mouth wide in a lion's yawn,
my body greets the day
with each tendon stretching
longer, stronger.
Feet laced into sweat-scented sneakers.
Heel to toe, leaning into the second mile,
breath coming in pants.
Acid injected deep below my calves,
pinch and burn
slow fire licking my legs
wrapping knotted fibers
into muscles newly born.

Trip to Topeka

     So my father, who is a history buff, took me to Topeka to see the capitol building today. It's extremely ornate--22 carat gold embellishments, hand-carved oak, imported marble and so on. Impressive, yes! Necessary? That's the question that kept circling in my head as we took the tour. Why is all this opulence necessary for senators and congressmen? Perhaps looking in the mirror-like marble floor helps politicians reflect wisely on public policy? Hard to say.
     My children (13 and 18 years old) came along for the ride and my daughter commented on the John Curry paintings of John Brown. She's artistic so she could appreciate the effort that went into creating murals of the size that adorn the walls there. I enjoyed the larger-than-life statues of Amelia Earhart and William Allen White, two of my personal "hometown" heroes.
     I've got to remember to play tourist more often. I've lived in this town 18 years and there is so much I still haven't seen. Just this last year I ventured out to 18th and Vine to the Blue Room. It's so easy to get stuck in our day-to-day routine that it often takes the prodding of someone outside of our comfort zone to get us to change.

Playlist Poem

I've used this prompt with my poetry club and (full disclosure) I got this from a great website but I didn't save the name. Anyway, this is how to create a "playlist poem"

1. Pull up your playlist
2. Put on shuffle
3. Take first five titles and use word-for-word in your poem
4. Order of the titles doesn't matter

EXAMPLE:
My I-pod pulled up these five songs:
Nobody Home
Whiskey Lullabye
A Change Would Do You Good
Not Myself
Early in the Morning

Nobody home at my house
The floor is creaking,
Wind blowing
Each curtain flap makes me wince
Thinking it might be you.

I comfort myself with a whiskey lullabye,
Liquid gold going down hot and rough
Like your hands on me
Like your eyes on me
Wishing it was you.

My mama says,
A change would do you good,
But why would I want change
When I love loving you so much.
Though you’re not here to love.

The smell of you in the house
The print of your head on the pillow
The remembered touch of your flesh
On my flesh. I wish it was
Just not myself.

Early in the morning,
I wake and look and there
You are—smiling from the pillow
Next to me and our smiles
Join to form a new love.