Prompt for RWJ, Prompt 293

Hey guys I’d just come to the end of a book and it’s like coming to the end of the road. In Alice Munro’s stories, typically you get a sense of a full life lived. The characters’ fates are intertwined, and really you get a sense of how their lives were by the persons whom they settle down with and the persons who had crossed their paths and then leave. And the strange twists of fate that meet some characters. You get a sense of poignancy when a partner dies, for instance, or when a daughter abandons a mother. Like all the props changed, know what I mean, and you become a different person almost. Transformation…that’s what life is about. So that’s what your poem’s about.


One thought on “Prompt for RWJ, Prompt 293


    Lifting my arms free of the wood,
    brushing clumps of dirt from my eyes,
    I can squint at a familiar sun.
    How long have I been dead? Buried
    alive while the world marched its feet
    high above me?

    Like city horses wearing blinders,
    I had kept my feet planted in my own
    direction, blind and deaf to brighter roads.
    Deep inside the darkness dwelling in me,
    I refused to bend. Rain and melting
    snow seeped down.

    I awakened from the rigor mortis
    of my tenacity. I saw the light.
    I listened to the gentle voice advise
    this fool to keep an open mind
    and trust God.


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