Today is Day 24 of the 2015 Progressive Poem created and nurtured by the lovely
Irene Latham. This project is a community writing experience where a poem travels daily from blog to blog, with each host adding a line. It began on April 1st and is nearing its end. I am happy to be participating for the very first time this year, though am bit intimidated by the form and subject. I'm really not a narrative poem kind of girl, or a free verse girl (not often anyway), so adding a line was a daunting task for me.
As the poem has moved from one poet to another, it has occasionally been reformatted. To date, no one has done the kind of work that my predecessor did, however! Tamera Wissinger's transformation of the line breaks is a thing of beauty. I've kept Tamera's version for those who want to see it carried on in this fashion. For those who need to see it in its "original" couplet form, I've got that too.
So, without further ado, here are both forms of the poem (same words, different breaks), with my line added to the end of each.
Version 1
She lives without a net,
walking along the alluvium of the delta.
Shoes swing over her shoulder,
on her bare feet stick
jeweled flecks of dark mica.
Hands faster than fish swing
at the ends of bare brown arms.
Her hair flows,
snows
in wild wind
as she digs
in the indigo varnished handbag,
pulls out her grandmother’s oval
cuffed bracelet,
strokes the turquoise stones, and steps
through the curved doorway.
Tripping
on
her
tail
she
slips
hair first
down
the
slide…
splash!
She glides past glossy water
hyacinth to
shimmer with a school of shad,
listens to the ibises
roosting in the trees
of the cypress swamp
an echo
of Grandmother’s words, still fresh
in her windswept memory;
“Born from the oyster,
expect the pearl.
Reach for the rainbow
reflection on the smallest dewdrop.”
The surface glistens, a shadow
slips
above her head, a paddle
dips
she reaches, seizes. She’s
electric energy
and turquoise eyes.
Lifted high, she gulps strange air – stares
clearly into
Green pirogue, crawfish trap, startled
fisherman with turquoise eyes, twins
of her own, riveted on her wrist–
She’s swifter than a dolphin,
slipping away,
leaving him only
a handful
of memories
of his own
grandmother’s counsel:
“Watch for her.
You’ll have but one chance
to
determine—
to decide. Garner wisdom from the water
and from the pearl
of the past.”
In a quicksilver flash,
an arc of resolution, he
leaps
into the shimmering water
where hidden sentries restrain
any pursuit and the bitter taste
of impulse rushes
into his lungs.
Her flipper flutters his weathered toes
– Pearl’s signal –
Stop struggling.
The Sentinels will escort you
He stills, closes his eyes,
takes an uncharacteristic breath of ...
water!
Released, he swims
Version 2
(Couplet Version)
She lives without a net, walking along the alluvium of the delta.
Shoes swing over her shoulder, on her bare feet stick jeweled flecks of dark mica.
Hands faster than fish swing at the ends of bare brown arms. Her hair flows,
snows in wild wind as she digs in the indigo varnished handbag,
pulls out her grandmother’s oval cuffed bracelet,
strokes the turquoise stones, and steps through the curved doorway.
Tripping on her tail she slips hair first down the slide… splash!
She glides past glossy water hyacinth to shimmer with a school of shad,
listens to the ibises roosting in the trees of the cypress swamp
an echo of Grandmother’s words, still fresh in her windswept memory.
Born from the oyster, expect the pearl.
Reach for the rainbow reflection on the smallest dewdrop.
The surface glistens, a shadow slips above her head, a paddle dips
she reaches, seizes. She’s electric energy and turquoise eyes.
Lifted high, she gulps strange air – stares clearly into
Green pirogue, crawfish trap, startled fisherman
with turquoise eyes, twins of her own, riveted on her wrist–
She’s swifter than a dolphin, slipping away, leaving him only a handful of
memories of his own grandmother’s counsel:
Watch for her. You’ll have but one chance to
determine—to decide. Garner wisdom from the water and from the pearl of the past.
In a quicksilver flash, an arc of resolution, he leaps into the shimmering water
Where hidden sentries restrain any pursuit and the bitter taste of impulse rushes into his lungs
Her flipper flutters his weathered toes –Pearl’s signal–Stop struggling. The Sentinels will escort you
He stills, closes his eyes, takes an uncharacteristic breath of ... water! Released, he swims
Tabatha Yeatts is up next. I can't wait to see where she'll take us (and them!)
If you want to see how this poem has come together, you may want to begin at Day 1 and follow its evolution. Here is list of this year's participants with links to their posts.
.png)
