A Study in Uncertainty

A dance.

Fumbling, my own two--

feet.

Impossibly, irrevocably so far down my throat when I'm around

I can't say what I mean so I say what I--

  don't. 

The last thing I--

  want.

A breath, a pause, I wait too long before I--

Leave.

Do you sigh when I go?

Is the room empty or just less--

  crowded?

-J 

This is for someone I liked far too much, and couldn't read at all. I used the scattered and likely hellish massacre of all things punctuationally proper to hopefully convey exactly the kind of halting uncertainty I felt in this particular somebody's presence. Hopefully it works and doesn't just come across as hipster-pretentious.  

Two Loves

Eyes closed and listening,
The rustle of hay, boards against my back, 
I listen to him breathe.
The weight of words cradled in my lap
As much a comfort as his solid weight
Standing above me.
For these two loves, my world turned.
Both were heavy, but he pulled harder.
Pen and page slipped through my fingers
Like sand in a child's grip.
Now in the chill of his absence I am pulled back
To the word and the wonder of the world
Which I can no longer watch
From between his ears.


-J 


So, this poem for me talks about two of my greatest loves, words and horses. I remember sitting often in my horse's hay pile while he munched around me, book in hand. Reading has always been a priority to me, but for many years, I put aside my inner writer. Why? Simply because while both horses and writing are in my blood, I'm not inherently gifted enough with either that they don't require a hell of a time commitment to excel. I made my choice in my younger years, and I have no regrets, but the strangling of my writing side continued even after my beloved Topaz was gone. I fell immediately from college and onto a horse-related career path, and somewhere along the line, I forgot I was a writer at all. Only last year, during the last rocky days of my marriage when I was trying to be away from home as much as possible, did I begin to rediscover that part of myself; With the rediscovery also came with the vow to reclaim what I'd lost. That transition will likely be part of more poems to come. 

A Little Late to the Game

So, April is National Poetry Month, and I'm a little late getting started-- simply lost track of time as I'm known to do. Regardless, it is something I want to do, so I'll be picking at these as the month goes on. I'll likely end up doing some with prompts and some without, and I'll try not to cheat with Haiku too often.. though it's tempting. I will, however, kick this thing off with a haiku to myself:

It is now April,
And you are already late.
Write poems faster.