This last week I attended a writing class through The Cabin here in Boise, Idaho. The experience was different from anything I’ve ever done before and I feel a door has been opened which I did not know existed. I’m bursting with enthusiasm and feel a momentum mounting.
As part of the class, each writer is required to submit a poem to be published in the annual Idaho Writing Camps publication and then attend a public reading where they read their own poem. I have my poems narrowed down to two and was hoping you could help me choose. I also appreciate any honest feedback you have to offer. (Side note: I’m a little frustrated with the spacing of the second poem as WordPress would not allow me to space it as I would like.)
Just leave a comment in the space below. Thank you!
These are the days of freckles;
taut dry skin, limp on a blanket,
eyes open to universes
drinking in the birds,
The lake is a mirror;
until my sunburnt skin enters.
every muscle contracts,
My boots are cracking,
the rubber a slave to the miles of travel,
switchbacks, unearthed roots,
beads drip down, salt on my lips.
Around the bend,
climb, stretch, the final turn,
I squint at the white orb, focus,
before me the world is my picture frame.
At the peak of dawn, a startle of abrupt chirping,
it’s fleece lined, black as soot, a bill to shield my eyes.
Enter, four chubby legs and a choir of pots and pans,
now a fuzzy top, purple stripes, stacks of smiles.
Out the door, blue bag over my shoulder,
it’s a bit of wool, vocal fold fatigue, fingers cramping.
On the patio watching the sunset, conversation over ice cream,
now it’s a breeze of lilac, sweet rain, eucalyptus.
No need to hang
it on the post when I go