This will pass, and that too
This is my friend Ashley. She says things like, “I can’t be a failure, I’m not done yet.” In conversation. And I write them down. She is my closest reader, my gentle and firm most honest critic, and my greatest cheerleader/editor. We are not always the best for one another. Once we had to flee a strange yacht during a vacation to Mexico. That was a little sticky (but I’m fine, Ma–it’s in the way long ago past, we’re much better than that now). I took a break from thesis writing and went over to Ashley’s place with an agenda laid out for us. The agenda I set was:
- Dance to Do My Thing by Estelle (featuring Janelle Monae)
- ?
Sometimes, when it’s all too much, dancing is what you need. Shameless stupid dancing. Originally I was going to just post a link to the official video of the song but then I thought, we could learn the choreography and flashmob. I know a lot of my friends have the same outfit…it could be good, you guys, if you’d just get into it with me. The other week I kept opening groups with that video and then letting it play as though we were going to learn the choreography as the session that day. Then I’d say, “Just kidding, we’re writing poems.” Then writing poems didn’t look so bad.
Read/listen to this poem by Brendan Constantine, who is an absolute gem and a genius and such a generous teacher. And is joining us this week, at Belvoir tomorrow at 1200 and at Bethesda on Tuesday at 1430.
Your opening line choices:
“On the days when we wept…”
“And though we know there will always be crying to do…”
20 minutes and you’re done. Send me poems mothafuckas!
One Response
On the days when we wept, as we submitted ashes to ashes,
dust formed on our faces, stuck to the wetness that wouldn’t stop although
we wished
we prayed it would.
We never knew, in the driest of air, that so much water could flow uncontrollably.
We searched for the shut off valve, but
these waters would not be stopped
could not be stopped
not in the land
of the fertile crescent,
nor in the land of lady liberty
these tears
the tears that God forgot
On the days when we wept, the thunderous volleys cracked the silent air
followed by death’s poignant melody
knees holding tight
refusing to let our foundations falter
On the days when we wept, we dried our tears
strapped on our armor and
remembered their warrior spirits
for it is for them
that on the days when we wept
that we opened the gates
dust formed on our faces
and entered the den of the beast
hoping that the waves of tears
would not run unstopped again
and too soon.