Most of the time, I consider myself a closet poet. I’ve never formally studied poetry and sometimes I wonder if what I’m writing is poetry or just short sentences. What’s the difference? I tease myself.
I just completed a six week poetry class and haven’t shared anything that I wrote from the course. This is my pattern. Writing in secret, scribbling away my thoughts and feelings then putting it on the shelf. No amount of praise and reassurance can make me less afraid to share. But what is the point of unspoken poetry? I share now with you a poem I wrote about the approach of the winter solstice.
My Mind is Stuck in Summer
The darkest of days has not yet arrived.
Oh yeah, it’s going to get darker.
The only light I can depend on is my own sparkle.
I’m not ready for the sun to come back at full force.
Summer just ended a few weeks ago,
The red rock remembers.
I am burrowed in the sand,
Deep in the hole I dug.
Wrapped in a wool blanket,
Crying and warm.
My dog is curled up next to me
Sleeping in the hole she dug.
She likes the cooler damp sand,
Tomorrow she’ll run off leash
But tonight we rest.
I stoke the fire and pull out my notebook
Ready to write again.
My mind is stuck in summer.
I fill the pages with this events of June,
In my hole I sit and I write and I cry.
At first I didn’t like being down here
Underground
Encased in the dark earth.
At first, I cried for the sun to come back,
and wished for the warmth to stay.
I wept whole days away.
Now I look forward to the night
These long cold nights
where there’s nothing to do
but read and write.
That’s why I dug this hole so small.
So I can’t stand up.
So I can’t run away.
So I can choose
between writing a book or
reading a book.
And that’s it.
My hole is where I concentrate on my own darkness.
That’s why I only dug it deep enough for me and my dog.
Visitors are not allowed
as the darkest day of the year creeps toward us.
It’s funny.
Now that I’ve dug this hole
and wished I wasn’t in it
I am in no hurry to leave
this home in the earth.
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