An Attempt at Poetry

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Hello, all!

To make up for my complete lack of posts the last few weeks, I have decided to share something I have been working on creatively. I am currently enrolled in a poetry-writing class, which, if you didn’t know, is a complete departure from my normal writing adventures. Prose is much more my thing. Something I’ve learned in this class, however, is the importance of language at the level of words. Every detail is important, from the structure of the poem to line breaks to the title (Ezra Pound’s “In a Station of the Metro,” for example). Now, my poem is definitely a work in progress, and it would be haughty to say every word was absolutely important, but I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it! Let me know what you think!

The Snail on East Pine Grove
By Charlotte Jones

Miles pokes it.
His yellow wellies slosh
and slop mud into my polka dot ones.
The puddles grow from rivulets and later,
When we’re chilled and Mom throws us
into bubbles with blue minty soap
And Dad makes ants-on-a-log
which Miles can’t chew without front teeth
And Snowflake and Sarge muddy the mopped floor
and cover my dryer-sheeted dress in slick brown,
Later we will have forgotten it.
Later when we fight about his G.I. Joes burning my Rescue Heroes
Or our scores in soccer or the answer to an algebra problem
Or his choice of first girlfriend or second girlfriend or third
Or which side the tassel goes on,
Later we will have forgotten it.
But right now it is at the end of Miles’ stick
As he pokes it, baring his gummy no-teeth smile,
and I cry so he won’t rupture it
Or crack its swirly shell the color of my melty beads
Or burst its sticky, pine-needled belly.
I cry, and he listens.
He stomps it instead.

(Disclaimer: Miles is a wonderful guy. He probably would have been the one crying about a snail, not the one to stomp it.)


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Comments

Mom

Love it❤

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