Everyone needs theme days, right? Monday can be for poetry, for poetry is awesome. I’m going to start with one of my own, but I will never limit it to my own.
I wrote this for a creative writing class in college, and it was my workshop piece. I have about a bajillion different versions because of it, and this is the least pretentious of them:
The first time I went into the forest,
I rode in my brothers pickup truck.
Farmland, quietly growing with life
that persists even in the crisp air hanging
like a ghost, rocketed past.
Wild grass grew where there wasn’t.
Before man, before beast,
this earth was a spectrum of green reds.
An ancient world,
which we only see the surface
We drove into that forest.
Trees grew close together like swarms
of gnats in the light.
The world grew smaller intricate
until the branches lace work
embraced the sky.
I stepped into a world not been touched by the plow,
never knowing the torture
cruel coldness of concrete.
Denial of self,
mortals making their mark.
I took off my shoes and felt the singing dirt beneath my feet.
between my toes
taking root and
marrying me to this earth