Ten days! One-third of the month done. I think I’m finding my rhythm, wait, don’t jinx it.
Today’s prompt is to write a prose poem, something I’m not that familiar with. The website Poets.org explains:
“Though the name of the form may appear to be a contradiction, the prose poem essentially appears as prose, but reads like poetry.” Sounds simple, but, as editor Peter Johnson says:
“Just as black humor straddles the fine line between comedy and tragedy, so the prose poem plants one foot in prose, the other in poetry, both heels resting precariously on banana peels.”
So here goes, my feet on the banana peels!
When spring finally arrived we ran outside, giddy in nylon jackets and rubbery boots (if we were smart). Everywhere the soft murmur of trickling water as streams formed on the sides of paved streets. These burbling puddles were irresistible, the perfect place to stomp and splash (remember those boots? hopefully we did), or smash any lingering fragile sheets of brittle ice-glass. Or we could make tiny rafts from twigs and leaves, maybe a paper sail if we were ambitious, and send the little water-craft on a lazy voyage down the street. The air smelled fresh, and the warm sun seemed so different from the winter sun, like it had just woken up and stretched. Everything felt new again, and oh the excitement of spotting that first delicate little flower blooming! Has anything ever seemed so beautiful and sweet as those early days of tender new green?
Photos thanks June Admiraal, Josie Weiss, and Markus Spiske at Unsplash.com.