This morning, I awoke to thunder. It rattled the window, my sleep, my blissful peace.
And so begins National Poetry Month!
As I stumbled out of bed, my thoughts, as they often do, turned to writing. I washed the dishes, put the coffee on, remembering the past few Aprils, how wonderful (and crazy) they've been, and how, in some way or another, I've carved out time to write more poetry during each of them. Some of my favorite poems started out as NaPo poems!
So, this month, I'm doing it once again. I'll be
May April be the month of shitty first drafts. Of musing. Of ideas.
May May be the month of revisions, of cleaning up the messes.
Today, I cheated just a little. I didn't write this piece in its entirety today, though I did take another swing at revising it. So this is draft 2 of a poem I've been working on all week. It's part of a little series I'm working on about Cinderella and her shoes.
Cinderella, In Hospital Socks
She looked too lovely for a place like this,
the ER nurse thought when he saw her, lying
motionless, serene, and almost smiling.
She wore a summer dress in blue that cinched
in at her waist, a plastic flower tucked
into her golden hair that beamed like sunshine
in July, uncombed and everywhere.
He wheeled her through the dreary ER ward –
awash in neutral shades, without a window,
the smell of death and bleach, of sweat and worry
wafting through the halls -- and asked a thousand
questions to keep her conscious, stuck a needle
in her wrist, then wrapped her in a gray
hospital gown. A pair of peep-toe heels
fell off her feet and tumbled to the floor.
Winter lingered on her naked toes;
he touched them with his palm before he slipped
surgical socks onto her waiting feet.
The only size they had was extra-large –
not quite a perfect fit. The socks were yellow,
the color of the morning sun outside,
the color he imagined was her favorite.