Almost a Poem

I didn't think I was a poet... it wasn't until I went to the Molly Keane summer Writer's Retreat in 2018 that I found a poet's rhythm in my writing. But it was there before. Maybe it comes from being a singer—who knows. But I was thinking that I'd like to put what little pieces I have in this blog because trying to find them in emails or old journals is just too time consuming and frustrating.

This really came about today when I thought of a poem I wrote back in 2016 when I was traveling around the west of Ireland planning and designing the TravelBlogging Ireland student trip that my colleague June and I did in 2017 and 2018. On the rainy days when driving around back roads was just too daunting, I started doing the writing exercises in Ursula LeGuin's Steering the Craft—a way to turn a day full of lemons into written lemonade. More than a year later I came across it again and sent it to Renée Soto, a dear friend and colleague who also suffered migraines and is... a poet.

Reading it over now, having exposed myself to much more poetry in the years since I first jotted this down, I realize that it's really "pros-etry"—but it could be pared down to essentials and turned into something better.

Excerpted from an email, November 30, 2017:

Subject: Because I know you understand...

I did this as a SHORT AND LONG exercise from Ursula LeGuin’s book Steering the Craft… The sentences are short enough to almost create poetry… what do you think? ;)

It starts with a stiff neck. 
Slowly, a shadow spreads over my cheek. 
A hot spot takes root over my eye. It begins to throb. 
And then it’s there—migraine. 
Words are lost. 
Time is an endless vortex. 
I want to come to the end of it. 
Once it’s rooted, my only hope is sleep. 
But that’s not always possible. 
Sometimes I work. 
I burrow into a spreadsheet. 
Pushing the pain away.

 
If I get outside myself it gets better. 
And then, suddenly, it’s gone. 
The pill did its work. 
I am whole again. 
But the day is lost.