At a poetry workshop. A good way to start the weekend.
The lesson:
Paint, meditate, visualize,
Ask the painting "what is your story?"
And the words will come through.
Try not to think inetllectually.
An aside: Anger serves no one.
Anger serves no one.
Except?
Maybe you need that moment
To let it out.
Then calm down,
Mediate
And rewrite your story.
—-----------
THE POEM
Rocks
Rocks,
Many are submerged,
Some rest in the sand on the bank,
Soaking in the sun,
Free from the water,
for now.
Smoothed by wind
and age,
They remind me of my grandmother's face
It was smooth, then rough,
then softened over time.
When she died her face
looked as beautiful
as it did
when she was twenty.
I wonder,
Did these rocks begin smooth
then roughen
and grow smooth again?
In and out of water
with the seasons.
Rain, snow, wind, sun,
Bare feet, hiking boots, sneakers, flip flops.
Treading across their surface.
Walking across time.
I shift my gaze and notice
snow capped mountains reflected in the lake.
They streak across the surface,
like they're trying to touch the rocks
But they disappear into the depths
in the middle of the lake.
Blue sky, a few white clouds.
Blue water, green surface, yellow buds,
Brown rocks soaking
White and gray rocks sunbathing.
How old are they?
How big did they get?
How small will they become?
Will they be here forever?
How long do they think forever will be?
© 2023 Sue Schnitzer
