when we were no one
Nineteen,
when we were no one
among friends,
some who irritated us,
some we loved
hiding in plain sight in a night of the endless midwest corn,
the great methane pile spread out in rows to the horizon
of an American September;
Some drunk,
some pretending,
taking turns shooting an old gun at the fire
to watch the embers become a shower of stars
before slamming the doors of our cars and lighting up the roads
in all directions
like sparks from a wheel
as the trailing smoke of our trajectories
dispersed across the plain
and proved
we are alive.
We were stupid.
We were all powerful.
We were the greatest whoever lived
when we were no one.
*April is national poetry month
I saw this on fy character development and was dissatisfied with the answer as I thought there was a lot more opportunity for character and story here; a reason, something more important than gender; simply, a relationship. I do like fiction writing, as seen in my poetry, but fiction prose is, for me, more elusive. The act of telling a story with a beginning, a middle and end is a monumental task. I find the questions to fy character development inspire me and I visit the blog often. Perhaps it is the limited character length allowed in comments on tumblr. My response to the question above for example could easily be turned into a poem instead:
I needed to be father or mother, but always her protector. Pea-Paw she’d say when she was two, grasping my fingers. Pea-Paw she’d say, squeezing my hand during her blood tests. Pea-Paw she whispered when she passed away. She had always called me Pea-Paw.
envelope
It is something to be the first out in the morning,
before anyone has tracked through the night’s snow,
like a letter still in the envelope,
waiting for eyes.
Valley heather under the moon.
before anything
There was a silence older than any sound.
There was a darkness older than any light.
There was a light older than any shadow.
There was a wind older than any storm.
There is always love before it is said.
