(writing prompt: model your poem after another- I chose Geraldine Connolly, The Summer I Was Sixteen)

The baby blue bug beckoned me,
its body freshly washed, its windows shiny
and waiting. I jumped in, my ripped jeans
sliding onto the black seats. Giddy with joy.

Turning the key, I pressed lightly on the
clutch, and then lifting my right foot,
gave the car gas. Moving. Slowly and surely,
I felt the rumble, left security, and rolled away.

Windows down, air as warm as buttery toast,
Beatles blaring. I grinned and dangled my arm
out the window. Turning. Watching the
yellow light. Yes, this is my car.

Eyes scanning for friends on foot, I drove
past the grocery store, through the park, and
onto the highway leading out of town. All you need
is love. My day-old license, an A&W root beer,

singing to no one and everyone as I emptied
the gas tank mile by mile in my tie-died t-shirt
and Birkenstocks. Hoping and praying

for someone to see me alone and in control.

#npm

 

Writing a poem a day for #npm is pushing me. This one is unfinished; I will come back to it.

The sun broke early that day.
Too little sleep, long talks over bourbon into the night.
Where’s dad, my confused mother said upon waking?
Gone, I say, holding back oceans of tears.
Calls to make, food to order, prayers to choose
And then, out of the corner of my eye, the abandoned boat in the yard.
Visitors to greet, memorials to write, bills to pay.
And then, as I pass the old wood shop, an imagined waft of turpentine.
Plane schedules to check, flowers to order, forms to file,
And then, while I pause, a familiar voice in my head, saying: Hello Daughter.
What I learned that day is grief will come in moments.
It will squeeze your heart, it will stop you in your tracks.
And then you will move on.

Writing Prompt What she learned that day #npm2012