Class is about to start. I haven’t done my homework. How old am I? 13?
I signed up for my second poetry workshop in three months, but not because I am a poet. I hadn’t written any poems when I walked into my first workshop last August in Taos. In fact, I hadn’t realized it was a poetry workshop at all. Once it dawned on me that I was among poets and it would be all about poetry, I wondered how I would make it through the week.
So here I am at my second poetry workshop. This time in San Miguel de Allende in Mexico, but with the same inspiring teacher/leader/poet Judyth Hill. The background for this time together is Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead). It is something of a national holiday here.
I knew that this is where I needed to be.
Yesterday we were free-writing after reading several poems, including “He” by John Ashbury and “Little Infinite Poem” by Federico Garcia Lorca. Judyth encouraged us to build off of lines from some of the pieces we read, using their art to launch us into our own infinite space.
I am now a believer that we all have poetry inside of us. And though I am writing a book, something that is daunting and takes a good deal of time, I have discovered the joy of having poetry be part of my toolbox.
Here is what I wrote yesterday based on Judyth’s prompt (mentioned above). Note: Still learning formatting on WordPress so the formatting below is not exactly how I want it, but, oh well.
We Are Always The Last to Know.
We drive the car.
The baby cries when we stop.
We move forward,
Only to stop again.
We soothe the baby
With woosh woosh hushing
sounds that don’t sound
anything like the engine’s low growl.
White noise they call it.
The noise that quiets the baby.
The only noise the baby wants to hear.
We don’t know anything.
We get down on all fours.
We ask the baby what he wants.
We don’t understand
that we will never know.