November 07, 2001

Poetica: Knuckled Down

Because Mechaieh is right, that you need to keep writing to practice craft before any magic will come, this is for this month's Poetica Collaboration:

Knuckled Down

Laughing, she danced across the moonlit bridge
If she saw the flicker in his eyes, as she whirled into his arms,
She forgot it in his kiss.

Years later, she remembered that odd look.
Her listless step and dowdy dress spoke,
As her stiff mouth would not,
Of her journey from that laughing girl.

She was too spirited, he said, too frivolous,
Not fitted to her place. Word by word
He built her shackles, bricked her in
In a cell of the spirit, trying to quench her spark.

The night she finally ran, she wore over dull clothes
A crimson silk scarf, bought from hoarded dimes
And hidden for months in a secret back drawer.

At the bridge, she left the car.
Then, laughing through tears,
She danced across in the moonlight
And whirled into the arms of freedom.

Funny thing: when I begin this journal, I intended it to be a series of essays. I felt guilty writing the mundanities of my day instead of ruminating on Issues. Now, I seem to have this urge to disgorge minutiae, and I never seem to write anything worthwhile. So instead, as a change, I'll leave this poem with has very little to do with my life. In this entry, I won't write about the photographer's showing up at rowing, or the hour he spent yesterday shooting me at my laptop, or my bead projects or travel plans. I feel the need to do some writing that's worth the reading. Posted by dichroic at November 7, 2001 04:59 PM

Yes. Exactly. ~LA

Posted by: LA at October 27, 2005 12:57 PM
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