Crossings

I was awake at stupid o’clock for no other reason than to have a leisurely couple hours noodling with words, line, crossings out and insertions in. Early mornings were never my friend when I had to get up and go out to a job. But poetry practice fills me with anticipation. This is not to say that I am Chatty Cathy. We like to observe a morning hush in our household, the type reserved for sacred space. I treasure the quiet (once the cats are fed – their bellies are sacred space, too!) Poetry practice got carried away with itself today. But considering that for the past couple months I have often had to write virtually on the hoof to somewhere else – a workshop, a next destination, life laundry, missions impossible – this has felt like luxury. I am still ‘landing’ back from the week in Scotland, but by tomorrow I am back into full gear again. So the three offerings that appeared in my notebook and posted are a gift to myself, to having the time to mentally meander a bit.

Crossings

I

A day opens
As does a notebook

Pages tumble like dreams
then open flat

to the place marked
with the purposed ribbon

demarcation
at the ready

like the lines
provided in feint.

A day could argue
with itself

but it might be more
profitably

spent than saved
on the blank page

in the notebook
open.

II

The quiet before
even the birds
are fully awake

III

Crossing
one's t's -
or water
on a ferry

each
is a mighty
journey
an undertaking

to cross a line
between
here
and there

a statement of intent
of possibility
a might be
soon - but not just yet.


Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Featured photo is my own, taken of Ailsa Craig, taken from passenger viewing deck on P & O Ferry from Cairnryan, Dumfrieshire, Scotland and Larne, Co. Antrim, Northern Ireland.

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