Thursday, July 11, 2013


This is a poem I wrote at the Pink Door Retreat. Here is how it came to be:

We all took turns busting a pinata and in the pinata were squares of pages--fairy tales cut up. We each gathered a stack and took time circling words that stood out to us(at least 20). Then we were instructed to write a fairy tale using a ghost line(a ghost line is using a line/statement to kick off the poem, but it doesn't appear in the actual work...kind of like a title). The ghost line was "Of course you had to survive." We were encouraged to make 20 lines, 8 syllables each in length. Rachel McKibbens is always awesome about letting her writing exercises be whatever they are meant to be in the end, but I wanted to challenge myself with these perameters. This is what I came up with:

The oranges would not eat themselves.
You, the neighborhoods miracle,
devoured them as if nature
herself promised riots in the tongue--
half-penny monster with pockets
brought a cake baked in bonfire.
All the loves were dead around
his neck, brief jostle of sockets
that bumped your mouth blood when he lunged,
who cried when you crawled in his drum
and there a heart shoved in thick moss
and to it rose a mountain of
citrus, beyond that stray segments
like glistened boats sailing curses.
After this risky feast the seams
of your stomach grinned big and split--
the tailor loved your loveliness;
mending your broken strands with her
fingerprints, so head over spool
she stitched to your lining a moon.

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