We're doing poetry in Creative Writing and I can definitely say that it is not my strongest genre, but I had a lot of fun putting together different types of poetry into small collections. I did a whole set of haikus on accidents that people make like spilling milk and breaking a window with a baseball. My friend has been doing a lot of flash fiction lately and I dabbled with that a little bit to make a collection about working at Borders. My teacher thought that that the whole topic was funny and impressed that I could come up with that much about working at a bookstore. My last piece that I submitted was a long poem with each stanza about a different guy. I've reworked it a little since its original submission. Somethings have been taken out and added in, but it still has a ways to go before it's ready for my final portfolio.
The Boys
I got the letter in the mail.
It was a surprise, something out of the blue.
My friends told me to answer it.
I didn’t want to because of her,
But I did it anyways.
I always loved your frizzy brown curls.
I called them your Jew curls
You said they were from the mystery genes that came from the Dark Continent.
I didn’t work, I was trapped.
I can’t stay on the farm.
He’s playing guitar by the gazebo.
No one interrupts him and a crowd gathers.
I stop to listen, he pulls me over.
Now it’s just him and me.
His long curly blonde hair tickles my cheek.
I bring him back and Merrie questions him.
One thing leads to another and we’re in bed, all three of us.
Laughing, whispering, watching the tiny television.
The phone rings and he answers.
We look on patiently, studying the emotions in his face.
He is gone and we are back to watching Roseanne.
It’s physics he says, no more simple than that.
I’m too distracted by the color of his ginger hair to listen.
The smell of Irish Spring lingers on his pale skin and I forget where I am.
I reach my hand out to brush the closely cut ginger bristles.
We stop.
Nothing is moving, I can’t even breathe.
I turn my head and Matt is there.
I take a step back and then I am gone.
We walk along the grounds, even in the rain.
After games we take hits and munch on left over snacks.
On nights when it is cold we scream at the TV screen,
Our favorite basketball teams running up and down the courts in front of us.
His wavy black hair bounces as he shakes his head and I smooth it away from his eyes.
I take his calls at all hours of the night until one night they stop.
I for a minute and then delete his number.
I tell my mom he’s Jewish, all the way from Israel.
You better not let anything serious happen with him she says,
I imagine the thin line of her mouth on other side of the phone.
We’re watching Hank and talking about writing.
It’s all we do now
My best friend,
My peer review.
No more late nights and sneaky mornings.
His dark beard against my face scratches my skin.
We must have fallen asleep while reading again.
I’ll call you tomorrow.
