As young girl coming of age, I spent hours, sometimes days, writing poetry. I filled journal upon journal, wide-ruled loose leaf page after wide-ruled loose leaf page with the angst, dreams, heartbreak, hopes and desires of a teenage girl. It was like finding my voice for the first time. I wrote all throughout high school but once I got to college the words didn’t come as easily. Perhaps it had something to do with living more out loud than before, finally quenching my own thirst just by living that I didn’t need writing to help me experience it.
Motherhood did something to let the words flow again. It’s been a lucid dream ever since but poetry is the beast that eludes me. Sometimes, though, it tiptoes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. And there’s poetry.
Poetry often feels like prayer* to me. I can’t tell if it’s crap or not but I feel a lightness afterwards, a sigh to the universe.
Tell me. Do you write poetry? Do you have a favorite poem?
*I refer here to the prayers of my youth whose lines are engraved in my brain from many years in Catholic schools. Prayer has since morphed into something much more sacred and manifests itself in many, many ways. Amen.