Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The Only Poem I Ever Published

 Here is my one and only attempt at published poetry writing.  I wrote it so many years ago I forgot all about it and about getting it copyrighted, even forgot it was published. I was going through old files today and found a copy in a box of "stuff".  So, just for fun and to remind myself of the circumstance it represents to me, here it is below:

Leaving Home

The road.....
         dusty......
                gravel.....
                             weeds blowing....
                                                tossing lazily from side to side in the heavy breeze.
The fields look scorched.......
                          parched..........dingy amber...dying slowly from the drought.

My feet...hot, wet inside scratched hiking boots......
                     screaming for a rest:
                     Please someone, stop for us.  Let us rest until the next long wait...
                     ...the endless wait for a ride on a thirsty August afternoon.

Sweat runs in rivers from my forehead,
                     dripping into my eyes,
                     adding to my frustration in standing on the road waiting,
                     waiting, waiting....always that wait...

Sweat trickles from my armpits,
                     around and down my back to the remains of the waistband on my jeans.  It oozes between my breasts,
                        slowly....making my T-shirt sticky and uncomfortable.

My long hair is in strings, and I can feel the streaks of dirt turning my face into yet another road map....
                         just like the maps I have tucked into my pack:
                         the ones with torn corners and frayed edges.

And I spit more dusty grit out of my mouth,
wishing my lips were smooth instead of cracked wide open by the heat.


The sun is right overhead,
boring down on the crown of my head,
relentlessly burning the fields still more.
Its rays are no longer welcome here.
The fields and I squint helplessly upward,
praying for even a wisp of cloud to block the sun's intensity.
We feel defenseless:
                                             the fields and I....
                                             waiting.....waiting.....waiting....

The small comfort of the breeze has stopped.
© 1979

3 comments:

chris e. said...

This is good. You really captured the feeling of the afternoon.

Susan said...

Yup, hitchhiking on the prairies in the summer heat...yikes!

Nancy said...

This is really lovely! How exciting that it was published, too! What was it published in?