All the same, I know I can run it. It's a tough course, I have been made aware of that. The blessing is, as was just pointed out to me, that since I've never run a 10K before, whatever my time is tomorrow will be my PR!!! Yippee! That, for some reason, makes it all better.
Meanwhile, I broke down and called the library this week. I hadn't heard about the poetry contest and wanted to see when the winners would be contacted. I found out that the winners won't find out whether they've won until the ceremony on the 20th of this month. So the hope remains.
I also had said I would post the finished product (after several revisions). A big thank-you goes out to Cristina Cabrera, a former classmate (now English teacher at Elgin High School), whose feedback was invaluable.
In other news, my novel is now up to 70+ pages. I discovered Google docs (yep, I'm so lame when it comes to technology) and realized I could put my novel, in a Google doc, onto my phone. My dad (who is several years older than me but much more tech-savvy) told me to also install Google drive, which I did. I have been working feverishly on it at odd intervals. I am gaining good momentum. I am doing my best to not edit as I write. I have a lot to resolve in the revisions, but ultimately you can't edit that which is unwritten. I have a very good idea of how the rest of the novel will progress. I will continue to post updates as I get closer to finishing.
Here are the final drafts (or, the drafts that were submitted to the contest) of the poems I wrote. Enjoy.
(I will apologize in advance for the italics. It's a weird quirk of Google lately to italicize everything.)
Growing Up
His daughter was difficult, firstborn. Teachers called her
sensitive, scheduled conferences.
She quivered about friendship,
boys, her feelings. Ill-fitting and scratchy, life pinched and clung to her.
Suicide almost stole her away.
He watched her,
helpless,
his heart straining.
Growing up was difficult
for her
to watch.
Awkward, wings deformed, she looped
away to college--new friends, new
opportunities.
Alcohol drenched her feathers, plummeted
his hopes
her potential.
His hair grayed; she fought the demon
Alcohol, almost lost
everything.
His heart dried up, hope leaking
through broken promises.
She clawed up
from the morass
from the destruction
she had heaped on herself.
Watching her, hope burrowed back
into his overstretched heart.
Potential peeked out, crocus petals
in soil thawed
after a long, bracing winter.
Years later, she was married, pregnant
With hope,
the first grandchild.
Skeins burst when overfilled, he pondered.
In the hospital room he rounded
the bed, laid eyes on the mewling
new
helpless
form next to her.
A thousand beams spilled out
onto cheeks wrinkled
from laughter
from worry.
His grandson is beautiful, his eyes declare,
everyone's best in a new skein,
supple and pliable.
His daughter in tears, he reflects that growing up
has agreed with her. Sensitive became an asset, wings healed.
Demons exorcised, opportunity
stretches
into the horizon
into the heart of his new grandson.
Words
Words sprout me gossamer wings,
erupt
me into the sky. Silvery and translucent over my back,
crisp air sweeps my breath.
My fingers brush
clouds, wispy and damp on my fingertips. Sun blazes, searing
through my closed eyelids.
Words plummet me to Earth,
anchor
me to the sand, chains
around my neck. Nails break off as I claw, choking
on fear, failure. I vomit loss
of opportunity, of love. Bile burns
tears from my eyes, agony washes
over my face. Mistakes reverberate,
ugly and hollow like rotted logs.
Words quiver my lover’s skin,
anticipation
waking desire.
My lips breeze his ear,
willowy promises reaching down his spine.
Words drip red from my chin;
I crouch over my victims’
spoils.
Tearing flesh, words work jagged teeth
across felled friends.
A forest lies in my wake, decay sweet I
lift my nose, spit derision, move
toward the horizon.
