After a great feature at Rain City Slam yesterday, I have been able to sit down and get some much needed writing and e-mailing done. Please keep in mind the Hedgebrook show at Town Hall is April 9th. For more info please go here.
Now; on too the poetry. As you know it’s national poetry month and I am taking part in the 30/30 challenge. I’ve been posting the poems on my facebook page.
dear future self,
It rained today.
After days of spring and sun, it rained. You didn’t mind. In fact, you loved it. You got to wear a sweater that has been hanging in your closet like a stood up prom date. A cafe colored piece of work that you bought second hand. Pulled it over your head and it smelled of rain.
You also saw Liz today.
She told you that being frustrated right now is OK. In fact, it’s a great thing. It means you just want more in your life and there is nothing wrong with wanting more in your life. She also told you that fear can be mobilizing. It doesn’t have to be a road block or an excuse. Liz hates it when you use your fear as an excuse.
I am pretty use everyone around you is fed up with you using fear as an excuse.
You did admit to Liz that you have put childish dreams to rest. This news made her sad and she didn’t understand why you would do that. She thinks you should keep at it.
That you are only frustrated.
Roger Ebert died today.
When you got the news you for a moment questioned the weather. You, for a moment, didn’t believe you could ever truly love the smell of rain. Maybe it was a trick you learned from a film.
You wanted to hid in your sweater again. Pull it over you and make rest of this fabric. Call it home for the time being.
The news of his death, really took a strange toll on you.
Like it was a death in the immediate family.
It wasn’t like the passing of John Hughes or Etta James,
where you took to your bed for days.
But you learned a lesson, the youngest part of you got really really
really scared for a moment.
Idols die too.
Heroes can crumble.
That after the credit rolls, there always that eery silences in a movie theater. That we all have to leave this place. That we all have to carry on.
That for two hours, we were whisked away to live someone else’s life.
Burn ourselves in someone else’s skin.
You’ve always loved playing pretend. You’ve always loved being an actress.
You’ve always been so scare to play yourself,
a role you were born too.
Roger Ebert wasn’t a guy who watch film.
He was film.
You fear the death of film. That everyone is a critic
but there was only one Robert Ebert.
He is a empty movie theater.
A strange little boy who was always just trying to get away.
Lived a remarkable life watching overs live it. You’ve always wanted to be one of those people.
You want your name in Times New Roman Font,
you’ve always wanted movie credits.
You always wanted to roll.
The sunset was the best supporting role, you will never get to play.
The way the salon door swings when our cowboy walks in.
The sound the curtain makes to revel all that stands behind it.
Roger Ebert was the movies.
You always wanted to be the movies.
So you began to write.
Write parts that could become phantom limbs.
Today it rained. And your wrote yourself a letter, to try to make sense of it all.
You could laugh at this later or edit it to make a more understandable statement.
But for now, you are just living,
in a moment.
the only moment.