This was a fun (and funny) 11th grade tradition from 1990.
The article was written by Alison Green:
https://www.amazon.com/Alison-Green/e/B006T9CAE0%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
The photo was taken by Matt Rettig:
https://democracyforamerica.com/site/our_candidates/626-rettig-for-assembly
A 3rd drawing by my Grandmother. I’m guessing this is Lake Ontario in the early 1930’s.
This is another drawing by my Grandmother from the 1920’s.
This is one of my Grandmother’s drawings from 1928.
these evenings I stay up
late, just to see what has
accumulated during quarantine
days, overabundant family
time, the same dog walks
over and over, this darkened
hour is the only quiet space
without Zoom, or TikTok,
Netflix, or email invading
every minute, here I am
again, pretending to write
poems, freedom disguised
as ink words on a page
nada nothing zilch
absence of all
form, invisible blank
space, that void
empty of everything
vacant desert, arid
dry heaves, alone
in this brain
without thoughts, vast
darkness between stars
i’m not trying to write a good poem
this is just playful, holding a flashlight,
watching words appear on a page like
reading The Hobbit as a kid, and i can
do this, sometimes pausing to notice
shadows where dark becomes light,
a bright circle, where meaning emerges,
my handwriting, this timeless universe,
in quiet night
and when the time
comes, the sentence will
appear already begun, as
if words were writing
themselves, this is how
the subconscious works
creating narratives that are
never heard, only thought
until someone tries to
put it all in print, and
then what happens? so
tricky to harness the
stream, all this like a
dream become understood
or forever a mystery
