Poetry and personal blog – Spilling my guts to strangers

Moving Day

With the curtains pulled down,
I suddenly remembered
That the wall leans in slightly;
I once thought a window accessory
Made all the difference
In hiding that fact.
As I stared into space, thinking,
The last ember of my cigarette
Dropped off the butt
And seared through the old shirt
I wore while doing the
Dirty work of packing up
My life. The sting from the burn
On my left breast
Was sharp and immediate, yet
Life goes on. After 20 minutes
Or so, the pain subsided.

*****************************

For this poem I used the NaPoWriMo prompt. The mission was to create a poem by erasing words, recombining the words, and adding new words, if need be, to the following paragraph from Annie Dillard’s book, The Writing Life:

“I pulled down the curtains. When I leaned over the typewriter, sparks burnt round holes in my shirt, and fire singed a sleeve. I dragged the rug away from the sparks. In the kitchen I filled a bucket with water and returned to the erupting typewriter. The typewriter did not seem to be flying apart, only erupting. On my face and hands I felt the heat from the caldera. The yellow fire made a fast, roaring noise. The typewriter itself made rumbling, grinding noise; the table pitched. Nothing seemed to require my bucket of water. The table surface was ruined, of course, but not aflame. After twenty minutes or so, the eruption subsided.”

(This poem and all poems posted during April 2011 are included in the free ebook, “30 Poems, 30 Days: Inside a Poet’s Mind.”)

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2011

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Comments on: "Poetry Challenge: Poem #18" (8)

  1. “I pulled down.
    I leaned over,
    sparks burnt,
    and fire singed.

    Away from the sparks.
    A filled bucket
    erupted.
    Flying apart,
    only.

    I felt the heat.
    Fast,
    Roaring.

    A rumbling, grinding noise;
    I pitched.
    Nothing.
    Ruined, of course,
    aflame.

    After twenty minutes ….”

  2. As always your poetry is so deep Sweepy even if you had to erase someone’s original version.

  3. Your poem “Moving Day” tops Annie’s prose.

  4. […] one Moving Day to another […]

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