, I feel like I've got the mean reds, that old familiar angsty ennui.... I don't know why. Maybe because people I love are leaving. Maybe because I miss the friends who are already long gone. I'm not usually prone to loneliness -- I'm very content in my own company -- and it's not exactly loneliness I feel right now, just.... Eh.Anyway.
I wonder if I should start writing again. I've let that talent lie fallow for a long while as I've tried other creative outlets. Maybe it's time to come back around.
What would I write about now? I exhausted the train / traveling theme by the time I finished my teens, lol, and anyway those poems were reflective of the endless possibilities life still held for me. I love the path my life has taken, but the choice of one eliminates all others. So what do I do now? I'm a wife, a mother, a grown woman with a mortgage and a minivan. (That reminds me: I think our car payment is due. Better check on that.)
What is it I need to say at this stage of life?
Let's have a train poem for old time's sake, while I ponder on that question. ;-) I wrote this untitled poem in a Creative Writing class my first month at college in response to an assignment to write in someone else's voice. I wrote as a Depression-era man who leaves his wife to ride the rails. Go figure.
You can't ignore the call of the tracks.
One night I lay in bed
a nice warm bed of straw and feathers
aside a nice warm woman
who drew every breath in deep as she slept
and through the open window
I heard it:
the low growl of it far away
the closer-up jostle of the cars
like friends poking you in the ribs for fun
and laughing
and the scream
so high-pitched and smoky-sad.
It came through every night after
and every night I lay awake
and waited for that song
of the steel wheels and the whistle
until I had to get up.
I walked to and closed the window
quiet as anything.
I picked up my shoes from the floor
and my jacket limp across the chair
and slid out the door
through the gate
past the sweet alfalfa fields and sugar beets
following the line of the tracks
and the last trace of its breath in the sky.
(31 Aug 1993)
~RCH~
3 comments:
For several years now I've wanted someone to do NaNoWriMo in November with me... maybe you could get geared up for that? :)
I love your poems. They are so lovely with wonderful imagery that I could never quite "get" in my own. I will always cherish the time we had going to the Bountiful Poetry Group. I loved that. I wish that we could do that still. I've even thought of you, me and Mrs. McMitchell (and anyone else with the creative bug) starting a blog where we would all be free to contribute. And comment. A place where we could bring our worst and best and just be. I feel the same way you do sometimes. Not lonely per se but I am left wondering on life's choices. Maybe a creative outlet would be good for us?
I like both of those plans! :-)
Michael-- I've never been much of a fiction writer; I think my attention span is too short, lol. But I like that NaNoWriMo gives permission to write crap, as long as it's lengthy crap, so maybe I could give it a try? I know you're not supposed to start writing or even planning your novel before it starts, but are you allowed to have your basic idea ready? And if so, what idea(s) do you have stewing?
K2-- I would love, love, LOVE to co-blogger with you! It would be just like old times! Let's definitely do that with Mrs. McM. :-) I miss you and love you. I've been thinking about you a lot lately, hoping you'll feel better soon. Breathing is kind of important. Bronchitis sucks. {{{HUG}}}
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