our second meeting at the home of evelyn frederick in phoenixville, chester county, for my traveling poetry class, involved working through recent drafts of different poems but also exploring new color-thinking poems.
thank you to barbara tucker for assisting with photography for the morning out in the fresh air.
this purple-shirted fellow is bill, evelyn frederick's husband, who enjoyed the coconut oil and pink salt popcorn which i brought along, as well as some delish snacks kindly offered by the students. he observes people, trees, sky, moving cars, and is the great mailbox-watcher. since i send snail-mail ridiculously often, i notice these kinds of tendencies.
sam traten brought green-scenes. his photographs and a poem by him are below.
*
Green
By Sam Traten
We live in Southeastern Pennsylvania.
It's August. Rain has fallen during the night. Creatures, including us,
are morning-happy.
The smell of life and growth surround us,
musky, rank of earth but shy of unpleasant, no
--much better than that.
Sound of dripping leaves shedding their leftover drink,
gentle tinkling patter for wake-up ears.
Taste of rain-dew nectar on spiraled tongues.
Ours, dear one.
Look. All around us and rarely noted
because it's there. It's just there.
*
i also brought along a multi-color exploration kind of poem from my own mind, from 2014.
when post-its are everything
by jennifer hetrick
i am so many bright colors,
i am the post-its and page-flags
i use: tangerine, stop sign red,
green of a pear tree leaf, peacock
blue, lemon, 1987's best neon
green, and a dull but efficient
canary persuasion. i am a part
of the adhesive on the back
at the top portion of the square.
i reuse them. i reuse myself.
i am reminders that i forget
because there is too much to do,
just too damn much of it. i am
what's sticky and loses itself
after so many papers are held
under me. i am perfect squares
in a perfect mess, chaosincolors
and in my blood. i am always
picking others’ post-its out
of the trash to mix back with
paper to take to the recycling
bin at my old high school,
at the edge of the parking lot
near the photography classroom.
i am ripped up pieces of color.
i am to-do-lists. i am short
sets of lyrics and new lines
of poems, not full poems, just
parts of them, tucked away
into weekly planners. i am
the reminders that reminders
couldn't remember and track
if they had off-center spinal cords
and breathed the deepest of breaths.
i am where commercialized ink
sleeps. i am the post-its tacked
across the walls and mirrors
in my bedroom and by my kitchen
door. i am those post-its that
lose grip with stacks of sheets
when the car door is ajar.
i am fluttering down the street
like i am all wings, in the tenacity
of a sudden summer wind,
getting away, losing myself
and reminders while colors
take small naps mid-flight
as i grow into new protons.
