An owl slipped through the black
above my speeding car.
Owl, Owl, enthroned on
telephone poles.
And me, a hollow tin can girl,
staring up at your existence.
Five raccoons skimmed the tires,
slid into darkness.
Wild paws parading on
black tar roads.
And me, a watering-can girl,
straining at your survival.
I have typed in vain for an hour and a half--the other words that must be said are stuck somewhere inside. Fortunately, someone else has written (almost) exactly what I wanted say.
Here is an excerpt from her words.
Don't strain under the anxiety of influence!
You have your own voice, and it sings beautifully. I know you have a third stanza in you that is uniquely your own. I think I am one among many who enjoy reading your writing here. Please feel free to share any fragments whenever you care to.
Thank you, Will. The third stanza didn't happen because my thinking shifted from showing to explaining/making a point. I decided that making a point what not my purpose in writing these items down, and that if I wanted to make that point, someone else had already made it in a much better essay. I'm not quite sure there's a third stanza of showing. Maybe soon.
Posted by: stephanie at August 20, 2006 09:24 PMPlease note: Comments will not appear immediately. Your comment will appear upon approval by the blog's editor. We had to implement this to decrease the amount of spam that our site receives. Please forgive the inconvenience. We are looking into other, friendlier options.