What I Want to Tell You
We often do a writing exercise in class in one of the classes I teach where the sentence prompt is What I Want to Tell You. Sometimes, I do it too. Today because it is August 28 a day that seems full of August and September and this fast crazy summer, a summer of a grandchild, a summer of New Mexico, a summer of the world falling apart and coming together, a summer of violence and constant attempts at reconciliation, a summer that couldn't possibly, even for the sake of a poem, be summarized, in a word or two or three. This summer I want to tell you this.
When I think of words I am one of those people words all over pieces of paper I lose those papers writing words trying to remember small woman in the supermarket she told me her eggplant was the spitting image of Richard Nixon this is my life, although it goes by so quickly especially summers when days more beautiful than beautiful begin and end before I can write them down when I try to tell you about the world and my sitting on the porch I am writing a few things down what I want to tell you is how life, small wonderful bright yellow life how life can happen if you watch and if you try to write it down