we are running
time is clocking us
from the edge like an only
our mothers stream before us,
cradling their breasts in their
oh pray that what we want
is worth this running,
pray that what we’re running
is what we want.
— Lucille Clifton
(The apple tree on the corner is in flower. The magnolia tree across the avenue has bloomed. And all the trees along both sides of the street are flaunting their pretty, new leaves, keeping me from seeing if the bus is coming. In winter, I have an endless grey look until the horizon muddies almost quarter of a mile away. Today I had little more than a crosstown block. It’s official: spring’s here!)
So, after the serious kick to the chest of not getting the fellowship I applied for last year, I pretty much stopped doing anything writing-wise. It’s a wonder I got my chapter finished and submitted last month. Lately I’m feeling a change, though. I’ve been working on a story for the first time in forever, and tonight I sent off an application for a summer writing program. Haven’t applied for another fellowship, but the fact that I’ve sent out anything feels good. I will, of course, keep y’all posted.
And then of course, there are the rhyme royals (which I keep typing as “thyme royals”!)
Did you run as fast
as your heart would take you?
Or your anger, your past,
your empty, open hands. Through
every story, every lie, every dream, and on to
this end, this cold, dark silence
this closed door, this past tense.
Still fighting the good fight with trying to learn this form. I think I’m finally starting to ‘feel’ what the form is supposed to be, if that makes any sense. I’m hoping to see that hint of connection translate into stronger poems. We’ll see what happens.