3/10/21 Workshop Text

 

Another Night at Sea Level

– Meg Day

On the third day, I wrote to you

about the sky, its elastic way

of stretching so ocean-wide

that the only way to name it

was to compare it to Montana’s.

Lately, the sky is a ceiling

I wake to: broad & blank

& stubborn, stiff at the edges

like a fever cloth wrung out

& gone cold in the night, damp

with the wicking of latent ache.

But tonight I was walking

home along the coastline

& caught the huge moon

in my throat. There’s a man

somewhere on the planet

who has been to that moon,

who has stepped out of that sky,

& will never sleep the same

because of it. Will always be

sad or feel small, or wonder

how it is a person can be

a person, if being a person

is worrying about things;

whose eyes cannot see

what things are, but only

the slightness of them.

I think of writing to you

in this way—welcoming

the adventure of it—

& of being wrecked

Reflective writing prompt: Write about a time you welcomed an adventure

3 thoughts on “3/10/21 Workshop Text

  1. jan

    Charlie’s poem:
    I felt each slow, wary step you took once on that plane…up the incline
    the fear and dread and wonder of it all! I liked that you wrote of a very specific, almost small, (with all the elements of success) adventure.

  2. Charlie Head

    Adventure

    I boarded the plane from the rear
    Walking up the inclined aisle did little to relieve my fear
    How quickly we soared above the Misty Fjords
    Yet the cacophony of the engines roared
    Thank heavens we had earphones to drown out the noise
    And inspire us with Valkyries riding poised

  3. jan

    Spring 1976
    Driving Alligator Alley
    it’s dusk, we’re heading home 2 Midwest girls
    Amy’s shiny red mustang flying as dark descends ahe..ad
    are lights, look up above the horizon line, moving slight
    sideways
    and up and down…What…is…are…that…WHAT?!
    Does a train go through the Everglades…no…red crossing lights it seems
    more lights in a circle other, (fills our eyes) worldly, shocks our nerves
    no sound no air closer still slowing in our fear
    a sudden shift to reverse we raise stone and dirt along the shoulder a sloppy turn around and silent all the way
    she floors it
    ’til a streetlight.

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