Yesterday, I was printing on what I thought was the back of old handouts, a bit of recycling, rough drafts on discarded paper. When I saw handwriting, I pulled out the sheet of paper. Much to my surprise, it was a poem fragment. Even more surprising, I have no memory of writing it, and the sheet of paper had no date on it.
It was with another sheet of paper which helped me solve the mystery. On that sheet of paper, I had written a letter to myself. On one side, was a letter from my 87 year old self; on the other, a letter from my 18 year old self. These weren't dated either, but the reference to a new watch that counts steps helped me figure out that it was from this past April.
I was leading a workshop at a retreat; I wrote this blog post about it. I think that I just found the poem fragments that the blog post mentions. I'm relieved that they are fragments, since they don't really go together. Or do they?
It's been awhile since I've posted a poem, and even longer since I posted a fragment. Let me do that today, since my writing time grows short.
Fragments from April
Gears grind and the bass
beats on, rumble of a subway beneath
merry go round of mood swings
bake me a pie
Sad snow melts into the sand
as the piano plays a melody
Old socks and sweet potato pie
Pitcher holding a dogwood branch
Leaves weigh nothing, acorns even less
Mud mask of injustice
Old scales falling off our eyes
Old swingset and a refrigerator full of apples
one bite taken out of each
Fermenting earth and sour milk
a pile of pecan shells to mark your passing
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