Impeachment

The following poem was generated in a workshop Saturday.  The challenge was to write an epistolary poem and a few choices of how to approach the task were offered.  For the uninitiated here is the definition per Poets.org.  Don't feel bad - I didn't know any of this before noon yesterday.

Epistolary poems, from the Latin "epistula" for "letter," are, quite literally, poems that read as letters. As poems of direct address, they can be intimate and colloquial or formal and measured. The subject matter can range from philosophical investigation to a declaration of love to a list of errands, and epistles can take any form, from heroic couplets to free verse. 

I chose to write to an abstraction, using sensory details.  I also decided to try the long skinny format.  Here is my poem.

Dear Impeachment,
I promised not to
think about you
today, in daylight
but the sweetness
of your word
tastes like cotton
candy on my tongue
the forest was dark
until your rays
broke the canopy
revealing blue skies
the cage of my 
heart unlocks
with your rattling
key of truth
I told myself
not to utter your
name, write poetry
instead, but
I am a child
on a swing
pumping my legs
jumping off into
gravel and gratitude
your word is
a bird set free
feral cats no
longer protect you

Veritas stands tall

on the shoulders

of democracy

and I rejoice 

in the future

Endless Summer

Ah, fall.  Leaves changing, pumpkin everything, boots and sweaters.  I am in mourning.  I may bitch and moan about the heat, the AC bill, my chlorinated hair; but the truth is I long for endless summer. I loved coming home (almost) every day this summer and doing my 'work' out by the pool.  By work I mean reading and writing - a bit of which I am actually paid for, so I can say work.  If loosely.

Not dragging extra shoes, and outfit change and towels to the gym in summertime is a huge benefit.  I simply sweat, come home and sweat some more.  Usually under the shade of a lovely large tree.  I've used up a few bottles of sunscreen - 40 or better - and  wore my hat all season to protect my face from the elements. I dive carefully into the 6ft deep end on days when I'll be washing my hair, and leap from the steps on the days I am the old lady in the pool who admonishes no splashing.

The beginning of summer at the complex where I live brings out hoards of children who are excited to be out of school and have their vacation from learning begin.  I patiently wait this time out before camps and trips start.  And then?  No kids, just me and my books and pads and pens.  Perfection.

For someone who claims to be freewheeling and flexible, I am pretty set in my daily routine.  Gym.  Errands.  Pool.  I come home, throw a load in the washer, pack a salad and drinks and take l68 steps to the gate.  I bring headphones to initially drown out the kids, and eventually to ignore the other occasional adult who may wander in to my sanctuary.

This year the powers that be decided to keep the pool open two weekends past Labor Day.  I had won the watery lottery.  Now I was truly the last lane lapper.  I was alone for this two week stretch - Mother Nature was cooperative in bringing the heat.  I powered through Julia Alvarez's "In The Time of The Butterflies."  I read two books by Kay Redfield Jamison.  I wrote and wrote and wrote some more.

The temperature of the pool dipped each day, due to cooler nights and no heater.  I persevered and kept diving in.  I'd sit in the sun to warm up, and utilized two lounge chairs for my personal pleasure.  One in the shade for reading and eating.  One in the sun to warm my bones because a bit of fall is in the early September air.

October is looming.  Others may relish in Halloween, then turkey dinners and the culminating Holiday frenzy.  Not me.  I revel in the luxurious days of summer.  Tank tops and flip flops are de
rigueur.  And I don't meant the dollar tree variety of footwear.  I spring for anatomically correct foot- bed thongs that wear like shoes and feel like heaven.  I may profess to be frugal, but my feet demand comfort and I comply.

Now the pool is covered and I am sad to look over my balcony toward the west.  My mailbox key has been returned to the ring where my car and house key are.  My summer routine is to check the mail halfway through my pool time.  Now I'll take the longer route to the cluster of mailboxes as to not have to look over at the empty deck chairs.

Two weekends ago I went to Colorado Springs for a writing workshop presented by Poetry West.  On a whim I texted Torie Jennings Giffin after the workshop to see if she'd like an impromptu visitor.  Torie is the brainchild and proprietor of The Buffalo Lodge Bicycle Resort on the westside of town.  I met her and some bicycle aficionados at a little Mexican Restaurant.  From there I went to the lodge and toured the renovated, bicycle themed rooms.  I was impressed by the kid-friendly nature of the rooms - bunk beds in a separate space - and the overall aura of the lodge.  But the best part?

Ah, endless summer.  On the actual last weekend of summer, Torie gifted me one more outdoor swim in the pool at her bicycle resort.  The water temperature matched the air.  The sun was glistening behind the cottonwoods.  I was reminded why I always keep a suit and towel in my trunk.  This was delightful.  Catching up with a friend.  Being just minutes from my old house where I raised my family.  (I did drive through the old 'hood after my dip)  Relaxing my body after sitting quite a bit between the drive and the poetry class.

Ah, summer.  It is time to bid you adieu.  But something tells me I may sneak another wee trip down south.  For one last dip.