Monday, March 5, 2007

Copyright, 1976

Being a packrat drives me crazy. I'm constantly searching for things. We've moved so often that usually--in my mind's eye--I can visualize where we lived the last time I saw what I'm looking for. When I get a spurt of let's get rid of some of this junk energy, and rummage through boxes and file cabinets, I become distracted by my treasures. . . and the memories. Like this one:

The Detour

I'm standing on the corner of Hope and Faith;
Just waiting for Love to come my way.
I thought I caught a glimpse of it
But it turned on Frightened Street,
And picked up a safer passenger.
ImageChef.com - Create custom images

Published by The Woman for their poetry page in December of 1976.
I remember where I was when I wrote it, but I can't get inside that young woman's head. Who was she? Would she like me, the person she became? I don't think so. And I can say with certainty, I wouldn't like her.

On second thought, maybe I would like her. She was a writer. She wrote a lot more than I do today. In spite of her social life, she produced short stories, essays, poetry, nonfiction, and kept them in the mail. She liked to say she was practicing the Shotgun Method of Submission: "shoot 'em out there and something's gonna hit." She's the one who garnered all the rejection slips filed away in my blue folder. Where would I be without her? She's the one who learned how to write, whose experiences I draw on.

Sure, she got distracted. A lot. But, she never gave up.
I'm the one who gave up. I turned on Frightened Street.
ImageChef.com - Create custom images

1 comment:

Christa said...

Your poem is so Emily Dickenson-like. And it's not too late to detour-------