Last week I shared a prompt from my writing group. Three of us wrote poems in response to it, and lively discussion ensued. Here's mine. I found it a lot of fun to write. I kept paring it and paring it; my final version was probably a third the length of my first draft. I enjoyed the process so much - even though the subject of the poem is so sad - that I found myself wondering again why I don't routinely write every day. The only reason I made myself sit down and write this was that I had my group meeting coming up. I think the answer to my question is that I usually prioritize my "real work," which involves reading student writing, and on the rare occasions when that is finished, my brain is tired and picking up my own writing seems too much. Yet writing is the one thing that reliably makes me feel better when I'm tired and down.
Box Full of Darkness
Someone I love gave me
A box full of velvety black-hole darkness,
Absence, not-there-ness, all-gone-ness,
A box filled to the brim with emptiness,
A box of goodbye.
I’d throw the box away,
But it will take me years to unpack,
And besides, it’s from someone I love.
Here's today's roundup.
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