January. The month of lists, resolutions, promises. Hope. I’ve never liked lists. They get lost. They’re incomplete. They stare down at you from the fridge door when you’re going for some ice cream. They nag. Resolutions and promises? Easy to … Continue reading Hope
Lucille’s mother was a gifted poet with only an elementary school education. Her poetry was offered publication but Lucille’s father wouldn’t allow it and forced her to burn the poems in the fireplace. It’s said Lucille never forgot it and I’m sure it shaped much of her own poetry. About the incident, she wrote a poem called “fury”: “her hand is crying. / her hand is clutching / a sheaf of papers. / poems. / she gives them up. / they burn / jewels into jewels.” She was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for two separate books in the … Continue reading Happy birthday, Lucille!
Thyme in my Pocket (After Lucille Clifton) I tucked a sprig of thyme in my pocket for courage, thinking about how it grows in the mountains between rocks in poor soil. I was climbing my own mountain, feet buried in poor soil to my knees. The Romans burned thyme as incense and bathed in its fragrant waters before battle. I rubbed the sprig between my fingers, absorbing its oil to assist me in battle for a new life. *** Prompt via napowrimo.net: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, … Continue reading NaPoWriMo 29/30: Thyme in My Pocket
