It's a new year with a new set of writing challenges with my poetry sisters. Even better than continuing on this writing journey is our commitment to writing together, over Zoom! I nearly wept when I saw their faces and heard their voices. We chatted about the challenge, wrote on our own, but together in virtual time, and then chatted about process and writing. We didn't share our poems, so I can't wait to read what they've written.
This month's challenge was to select words from a particular year in Merriam Webster’s Time Traveler. This site highlights when a word was first used in print. I was born in 1965 and had some interesting words to choose from.
I ended up with two remarkably different poems, though both are focused on childhood memories. Neither one feels particularly finished, but I'm glad to have gotten something down. (Note that the words from Time Traveler that I used are highlighted.)
Not by Definition
Dork
a moniker casually tossed
but hand-me down clothes
fittingly unstylish, outdated
gave it legs
a tendency to choose books
over social interaction
made it stick
My game face was nerd
my lived experience more
smart than odd, more
curious than awkward
stoked not just by math, science,
Dr. Who, and Star Trek
but also the give-and-go,
alley-oop, and leg out
Driveway hoops, backyard ball,
winter hockey on a frozen pond
all precious moments when
there was acceptance
hard won in sweat, pumping legs,
and flying elbows
But there is little wiggle room
in a label that
damns us from the start
restricts how others see us
how we see ourselves
unless we take it back
embrace it, proclaim it
wave its banner high
Today my name tag reads
“Hello my name is __.
I am a dork.
Diamond Days
We lived for the home stands
clutched knothole passes
in clammy hands
excitedly took seats in
hard, hot bleachers
We cheered as batters legged out
hoped for theirs to ground out
held a collective breath
at the top of the 9th with
two outs, full count, bases loaded
watched our hurler
full-on game face
wait for a sign
Time slowed before the nod,
the wind up, the pitch
the crack of the bat
the agony of defeat
We left burned
in more ways than one
but more than ready
to return the next day
for another round
another glorious day
in the sun
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2021. All rights reserved.