Tonight, for the first time in a while, I desired to write in meter, to create within that beautiful order, to struggle to find the right words as if they were moral choices between good and evil.
I left most of my poetry in North Carolina but found a few lines I jotted down sometime last year. I easily reworked them; for though it's summer and the poem is set in fall, what I felt then--disconnectedness from the world of the poem's characters, heightened by the perplexity that followed my initial curiosity--is much like the elusive emotions I'm experiencing while settling in a new place.
As I prepared to leave for Colorado many remarked to me, "Transition is hard." Yes, it is. It's wonderful and expansive and humbling too. So I'm not surprised that I'm feeling a little strange and listless; neither am I worried as I recall these wise words from a woman I recently met: Life is life. God is God. Don't let life define God. God is good no matter what life is like.
The first day of fall
Today between my coffee sips, I caught
a piece of conversation from the women
a table away. I read their whisper lips.
One woman said, "She's fine." The other replied,
"Her husband thinks he's watching her die."
Thursday, July 22, 2010
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