She felt the chill
alone breeze A week ago, the shades
oranges so bright in the sun.
but as she blinked from the pain,
as the pink hues,
night peaking against the murky
ground. she wondered how many
had been picked just to rot
In the winter sun.
Day three of national poetry month.
This poem was written in response to the prompt of Ghost. I want to play on the idea that our most intimates part of ourselves can be easily coopted.
For the second day of poetry month. I am uploading a piece I wrote in response to the prompt “haunted party.” I hope you enjoy.
For poetry writing month, I will be sharing old and new poems of mine. This one is inspired by Emily Dickinson’s “My life has stood a loaded gun.”
Someday: a found poem
sometimes the words don’t come from you, but they flow from others
Whenever I’m in a slump, I grab a book that’s bound from the trash and try to make something new.
Tell me that forever didn’t pass us yesterday in a beat up Suburban with a bleach blonde soccer mom at the wheel. Tell me I’m not weak for calling you. Tell me you didn’t notice the hack job they’ve done to my hair. Tell me your phone’s been out of service for the past week. Tell me I’m prettier. Tell me you’ve noticed the way your hand fits into mine. Tell me I’m not your servant. Tell me I’m not imagining all this. Tell me the sun won’t rise. Tell me you hate subjunctive sentences. Tell me you hear me. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me to run. Tell me to burn your pictures. Tell me running wouldn’t do me any good. Tell me that you don’t think I’m as crazy as my grandmother who thought my aunt was a robot. Tell me you’d get into a car with me and drive until we ran out of gas in a ghost town. Tell me to forget you and walk away. Tell me actions speak louder than words. Tell me you can conceive. Tell me one day it will change. Tell me those things you said weren’t true. Tell me one day it will be the same. Tell me words speak louder than actions. Tell me I’m not a robot.