She hovered her hand
a breath’s distance
above bare, brown ground
her lips performing the sacred
enchantments,
and waited for water
to come.
When none pushed
through the solid earth
she dug a tiny knife from
a worn leather pouch
which hung, hidden mostly,
in the folds of her colored skirts
and scratched the dirt
scratched in little gentle lines
a reminder to the spirits
slumbering
beneath
that no rest is forever
and rivers never sleep.
About the Creator
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More stories from Vanessa Jimison and writers in Poets and other communities.
An Unfinished Poem is Like Banana Bread
Have you ever taken a loaf of banana bread from the oven, and tried to pop it out of the pan right away? It’s too tempting to resist, and more than once, greedy for a slice of hot bread covered in my favorite Irish butter, I have made this mistake. The bread plops out, still steaming, and stubbornly refuses to maintain its form. Removed from the stoneware too soon, it slumps and falls inward on itself, no longer the sleek golden loaf it was meant to be. Any attempt to slice a normal piece from it results in a mound of crumbs and sadness. An unfinished poem is exactly the same: when it’s not quite done, it needs to be left alone for a bit — otherwise, it falls flat. The ideas that originally filled your mind must “cool,” and the trick is to take a break and come back to it later. In the cooling off, clarity crystallizes, and your ideas can break free from the restraints of the writing process. You’ll be able to return to it with fresh eyes, and carve from it exactly what you wanted — but giving yourself the time away is a crucial step in the completion of a good poem. Like all art — baking included — the master must learn from her creation the delicate and critical wait. It’s easier to butter a slice of bread than a mound of crumbs, and it’s more pleasing to read a poem that has been polished and perfected than one that has been rushed. In both cases, the wait is worth it.
By Vanessa Jimison5 years ago in Poets
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
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