Freshly Hatched

I woke up with a poem in my head.

Freshly Hatched

Tiny pip in the shell
of consciousness
Long pause follows
then another crack
bigger this time
A way out
Word here
image there
Coming rapidly now
The poem stands on wobbly legs
and peers into the light of a new day

Now that I am on summer session time (1 class that meets for seven weeks, half F2F and half online), my urge (energy?) to write is back. I feel fragile (brittle) after the stress of this past school year and the brutal winter we endured in this part of the world, and I take the poem-upon-waking as a good sign.

Much of the last three and a half weeks since I finished grading finals has been spent reading purely for pleasure, and resting (and by resting, I mean working with Tony on getting the garden in–beans, carrots, lettuce, potatoes, tomatoes, zucchini and watermelon). I’ve spent a little time at my typewriter, and I keep a small notebook in my purse for writing lists, but I have not flogged myself to work out of guilt or a misplaced, overdeveloped sense of responsibility. I do enough of that during the school year.

The recharging has begun.

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