One thing I saw while I was silent.
An end to this week of silence.
I didn't mean to fall silent for a whole week--certainly not right after having tried to turn an intense spell of nausea into my second daily four-line poem. But I've fallen into a terrible problem:
summer teaching + moving house + 1/2 (normal sleeping) = -time for documenting anything around me
But! I'm hoping that I'm about to bring this complex of factors to a different place--which will mean being able to carry my camera again, being able to take pictures and write words, being able to sleep enough (which has already begun happening). Rather than repair a week's worth of gaps, I'm simply going to leave them as some kind of an unfortunate but necessary blackout period.
And.
Evenings, the gut turns hard with pain
and the body breaks toward falling,
green with sick chill.
No floor was ever such comfort.
Delicacies for deer.
On my way home from an adjustment to my glasses, I saw a poem at the side of the road, and when one of my writing group friends gifted me a line, I felt it was all done.
The beans in the field
grow tall as deer
bounding the rows by the river.
There are birds involved.
"You should write a four-line poem every day," one of my groupmates said. It's true; it would certainly bring me here with more energy.
