From this summer at camp:
If it were up to me, I'd abandon this lonely campfire bench and chase the sunset. I wouldn't look up directions, and the map in the backseat would stay there. I wouldn't come back. I could live in my car, find odd jobs in towns I went through. Others can function on less.
But here I sit, rooted by responsibility and commitment. Next year will be my last of set plans. I've yet to make any, and I'm unsure if I want to.
Seriously Considering...
Nightmare Revisited
When I was younger, I used to have this nightmare that would come back every month or two. A car would drive up to our house, and three or four guys would get out and come up to the front door, try to look inside and taunt us. Sometimes I was by myself, with my brother or even when mom and dad were home. There was never any actual violence as I recall, but I think what creeped me out the most was that it was always the same guys in the same car. Maybe this is why I'm not too sad that I don't dream often anymore.
Moments ago, I was out on the driveway taking in the night. To the right, the sky was clear; to the left, the sky was cloudy which blended with the fog as my gaze leveled out. I began to think of how I didn't linger outside much at night back in the day. Granted, the coyote howls in the distance will give me a brief chill and wondering the property across the street is something I still save for daylight hours, but the driveway is comfortable.
Walking back into the house, I started scoffing some of the things that used to bother my younger self. Then I remembered the nightmare. So right now, I'm piddling around the internet and will maybe read or listen to a podcast in a minute. All in hopes that I can ward off the chance of the dream coming back tonight.
Home Alone
First item of business
after driving twelve hours home:
give brother a buzz cut.
He's talked about it since grade school.
With the parents out of town
he finally did it. No, I did it!
After American Pie
we end up outside at the end of the driveway
discussing his girl, future plans,
and the past contained in the house behind us.
I hope one of us grows old right here
with the other just across the street.
Green-Striped Melons
A good magician never reveals his tricks. And likewise, I'm tempted not to share where I find some of these poems because you might check my blog as much. But it'd be wrong not fill you in about American Life in Poetry. It's a program that Ted Kooser when he was the U.S. Poet Laureate. It's a short, weekly column containing a poem that's syndicated free to newspapers. You can also get them emailed to you, just visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org. Or come back to my blog for the best of them.
Here is last weeks that I just read. It's so short and deep. Drink it in:
"Green-Striped Melons" by Jane Hirshfield
They lie
under stars in a field.
They lie under rain in a field.
Under sun.
Some people
are like this as well--
like a painting
hidden beneath another painting.
An unexpected weight
the sign of their ripeness.
Up Past Curfew
7-24-09
For to finish some days requires
an out-of-bed experience
like sipping tea on an empty porch
watching the night fall asleep.
Two days off. Two poems.
Two untitled poems I wrote during my day off today and last week. Comment if you wish!
7-8-09
The Eastern Kansas road stretches out
then abruptly twists—left then right, repeat.
Oddly there's no rush or pressure
of people to see, places to go.
So down with the bass; up with the treble.
Under the speed limit instead of over.
Thumbs up to the bicyclist I just passed
instead of the finger.
What a different way to live!
7-15-09
Is it really so odd
that one day is warm
while the next brings snow?
That rain and clear skies
can swap spots in minutes?
Why berate the poor weatherman
when no one in the world
can predict my change of mood?
Maginalia
Because I love books, because I mark notes and symbols in the margins, because I too am wondering about my old self:
"Marginalia" by Deborah Warren
Finding an old book on a basement shelf--
gray, spine bent--and reading it again,
I met my former, unfamiliar, self,
some of her notes and scrawls so alien
that, though I tried, I couldn't get (behind
this gloss or that) back to the time she wrote
to guess what experiences she had in mind,
the living context of some scribbled note;
or see the girl beneath the purple ink
who chose this phrase or that to underline,
the mood, the boy, that lay behind her thinking--
but they were thoughts I recognized as mine;
and though there were words I couldn't even read,
blobs and cross-outs; and though not a jot
remained of her old existence--I agreed
with the young annotator's every thought:
A clever girl. So what would she see fit
to comment on--and what would she have to say
about the years that she and I have written
since--before we put the book away?
The Last REAL Summer
Even though Union let out at the beginning of the month, I took a stats class (my first and last college math course) that crammed a whole semester of material into three weeks. But today I finished! All five tests are over, and my homework has been handed in. I'm ecstatic. I don't think I'll know what to do with myself until June 10 when I leave to work at camp.
Actually, I do know. Work on cleaning my room and my office, finish Alias, catch up on TIME, hang out with friends, get my teeth cleaned, start packing up again, go to a wedding and my brother's high school graduation, write some poetry, wash my car, get my camera fixed, schedule gallery exhibits for the rest of the summer. And while that's a pretty decent-sized list, I don't care because school isn't in the mix anymore! I love summer.
In the middle of it all, I need time to think. I have a lot I want to figure out, and I need to make it a priority. So many questions are begging answers, and I need pay attention to them instead of covering them up with busyness.
But all that will come. For now it's sleep. It's weird thinking that this is my last, true summer. Next year around this time I'll have graduated and summer will be a thing of the past just as homeleaves are to me now. Believe me, I'm living this one up!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
