Monday, February 4, 2008

Oh My God, I Actually Wrote a Poem

It's barely on prompt from read. write. poem., but I'm just proud I actually wrote a real poem. Whew.

Snowbanks

Salt water melts
at a lower temperature and yet
here I am, clothed
in a carapace of ice. It started
slowly, as it always does. My eyes
shedding narrow rivulets against
the wind. Icicles grew on the tips
of my eyelashes, hung in sharp relief
against the night sky. Once they stretched
over the cool hollow of my sockets, touched
my exposed skin, it was too late.
My vision was soon obscured by layers
of gray white ice. I huddled
deep inside of myself, loosening my skin
against the husk that eveleoped me.
Waiting here, shivering but not shattering,
I conserve my heat and pray
to break against the frozen street.

12 Comments:

gautami tripathy said...

You even managed to write a good one. It goes with the prompt too.

Crafty Green Poet said...

excellent response to the prompt -very chilly, very effective, just excuse me while I go and switch the heating on...

Jo said...

beautiful, it chilled me indeed.

mariacristina said...

I'm thinking of icicles forming on a house, or else a statue turning to ice in a park. Either way, I like how you create a world and let the reader come to her own conclusions. Fun!

UL said...

oh chilly clothing....i would add a mug of hot chocolate to warm my inside....loved this!

SweetTalkingGuy said...

Nice poem, but 'loosening my skin' sounds pretty painful!

gingatao said...

frozen tears? dressed in frozen tears, there is a kind of sad beauty to your word sculpture, cool

Linda Jacobs said...

Wow, you've created quite the snow person here! I'm shivering. Quite effective!

Rob Kistner said...

Yes, you most certainly DID write a poem. This was really captivating, and just a touch bittersweet -- yet hopeful.

jillypoet said...

I love the magical realism of this poem. Reminds me of a poem by Margaret Atwood where the poet becomes a bog person. I love your poem!

...deb said...

I would agree with jilly, except for reading about your bus stop waiting in carzy-cold.

This is magical because it seems so real. Terrific.

susan said...

The real is magical. And I brave the bus stop waiting with you. Will be back for more reads. The absence of authenticity will leave work flat and uninteresting. This poem is levitating.