One week into my “creativity” practice. I’m lucky to have a supportive group of poets with whom I share the day’s writing. While I am looking for another “critique” group, this group is a place to try things out and, more importantly, to read other works without judgement (unless it is asked for and sometimes we do). Some of our shared poems prompt other ideas, others are perfect nuggets. At least one of our number has her own blog as well, http://writemylifeinpoems.blogspot.com/, that I invite you to visit. She’s much better than I about posting every day.
I had a number of writing rummaging around my brain so far today. I got waylaid by another project (this hat) and consequently wrote a different poem than I was expecting.
this is not what I’m supposed to do today
I have too much on my plate
an overly long catalogue
to be seduced by piecing
one layer to another.
this is not on my to do list today
nowhere near it
yet like a somnambulist I head down the stairs
to the overfull container
of stored cloth.
drawing out scraps, snippets
from other projects, shrunken wool
(only some deliberate) sorting through
thread, finding the pins
till somehow the fabric is cut, placed
right sides together, ready
for feeding the pressure foot
Ready. I’ve managed to
remember how to steady the tension.
thread the persistently small needle,
when the thought creeps to me
like the fabric through the foot
what if I forget this
what when might it be
that the hat I make today
will shelter another head
my own and not my own.
This is not on my to do list today
and I will do it anyway.