Selfie Self-Satisfied Selves (#21 NaPoWriMo Prompt)

Moonlight selfie
Burning lungs, a scramble up
Twilight stairs, Huffer’s Hill. Your world.
Your arms around me,
Warm against summer chill–12,000 feet.

Wrapped in a celestial cloak,
Watching
Wyoming fade to black.

I breathed gortex, mountain, you.
My cheek, your coarse whiskers,
Our vista private, infinite,
Complete.

In the gloaming below,
Elk, moose, deer, marmots, wildflowers, waterfalls.
This moment.
Self-satisfied.

Long waves light
Faces so confident in our “us.”
Our future.
Our choices.

We hung the moon overhead.

(freewrite paragraph) I remember the air burning my lungs the last bit as we scrambled up the twilight stairs of Huffer’s Hill. You were showing me your world. Your arms were around me, pulling me close and warm in the chill of a July night at 12,000 feet. In our celestial hood, we watched the glow fade from the distant Wyoming skyline. I breathed in your scent, a mix of gortex, and deodorant, and you. There, wrapped up in you with my cheek brushing your whiskers, on top of the natural world, we were complete. Our grinning eyes searched out the elk, moose, deer, marmots, and wildflowers of Colorado incognito in the growing darkness. The photo is the moment. We are self-satisfied in our happiness. The long waves light up our faces exuding confidence in us, our future, and our choices. We reached up and hung the moon over our heads.

I followed Brim’s first prompt for a freewrite about a selfie.  Then, because we are so self-satisfiedly happy in this photo, I decided that it fits within the narcissist prompt.  Using a form of the elimination technique from yesterday’s prompt, I ultimately came up with the poem. These ideas have been so fruitful and fascinating.

NaPoWriMo Prompt: And now for our (optional) prompt. In her interview, Brim provides us with several suggestions for generative writing exercises, and we’d like to challenge to today to tackle her third one, which is based in the myth of Narcissus. After reading the myth, try writing a poem that plays with the myth in some way. For example, you could imagine that imagine the water is speaking to you, the narcissus flower. Or you could write a poem in which the narcissus berates the Kardashians for stealing their neurosis. Or a poem that comments on the narcissism of our time, i.e. beauty and body obsession, etc.

Memories From the Farmhouse (#18 NaPoWriMo prompt)

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Oak shade and cool-breeze tire swing
Arched out over the hay field,
Glimpses into the off-limits barn.

Boosted on grandfather horses, legs split wide.
Pioneers exploring, night made by lying back on
Warm haunches, short hairs prickling in mine.

White clapboard siding trimmed in forest green paint,
Trickling past my ears, bucket on my oft-warned head, when
Chased by my brother around the ladder.

Lilac tree-bushes screening the barn,
The work truck closing on my finger and
A heated needle pulling black-red drops from purple pulp.

The smell of sun-warmed cherries in flats.
Lowing cows, stamping horses deep inside the barn.
Chicken wire woven with feathers.

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The whole family–Brandy (horse on right), Amy in red on Princess, Cam in blue on the pony Dandy–me in that favorite orange plaid cowboy shirt.

Place Out of Time (#11 NaPoWriMo)

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Tracks carved through crust,
Splayed, cloven, deep.
Moose, maybe this morning?

Pads pressed in petite fives,
Canine cannonballs noses flared,
Whoofing air that is occupied, invisible.

I’m in the rear,
Stumbling snow steps,
Watching the scene unfold.

Then just leftovers, empty space.
Hooves and paws belied by prints.
Suddenly ancient creatues imprinted.

Time in its intestinal folds,
In this space, we huddled together:
Moose, dogs, wooly mammoths

Me.

Mud Season

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27 degrees–
Walking weather in mud season.
Wending down the road that just
Hosted skiers, snowmobiles, sleds.

Eight paws, two noses, four ears,
Electric.
Cracking from fox print to moose print
To last years elk carcass.

Spring sun sooths my shoulders.
Crisp air worries my ears.
Already the scale has tipped,
Favoring the roots stirring out of sight.

Release.
I can hear ice give way to water.
Water wending its way through ice,
Mixing with soil under the morning frost.

For a moment it’s the hard thud of
Galloping dogs.
Then sliding from ice to mud,
We trudge our way home.