The poem below is the twenty year old me living on the high speed line and working in center city Philadelphia. For a little while I was taking courses at an eye institute in the north of the city and working in the center city while residing on the main train line in Pennsylvania several stops out. So, to get to work, school, and home took me a very long time. I walked to the train station near my apartment, took the commuter train to a bus and a subway to work, to class, to work, and back home again. It was an interesting commute and I had a lot of strange experiences like breaking my nose in a train wreck or like the time I was flashed (those are for a whole different posts). Mostly I remember watching people and wondering about where they were going. There was a mental hospital that had closed down, I think, and they were sleeping in cardboard boxes, some screaming strange scary stuff, sitting atop the steamy grates. I can still conjure the sour smell mixed with the smell of pretzels baking in places. The smell memory is a core brain area! But, one of the strongest memories was feeling cold.
This is my first attempt at a Behrquain poem, it is not to rhyme, it has a 2, 4, 6, 8, 6, 4, 2… style. I hope I got it right. Not rhyming was difficult for me!
Tomorrow, a Coat
Sweater
Wrecking her mood
Pulled o’er her head, static
Lipstick smearing, flyaway strands
Held tight down by hairspray
Taste in the air
Chilly
Fall all around
Gladly wearing it now.
Exhale is warming the fibers
Fogging, frosting glasses
Shirttail wiping.
Making
The subway full
Standing, no seat in sight
Holding handle through jerk and bump
The stop is made, all off
At subway’s end.
Her job
No sweaters there
Chilly but faking warm
And on her break she sipped hot tea
And dreamed of warmer things,
A summer’s play
Darkened
The sky grim gloom
A northern snowstorm dumped
Sweater weather turned winter freeze
Steadfast strode, subway fast
To her warm home
Heartened.
…
~Julie Robinson
Nicely done, your poem leaves me feeling a long ago, frigid and lonely time.
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Thank you. Writing brings out memories. Sometimes cold old ones and warm ones are puzzle pieces of me
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i like the contrasting temperatures and the moods they set.
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Thank you.
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Perfect, love it. You really are a great poet, as the saying goes, you just don’t know it. Have a great day
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That means so much coming from my poet mentor!
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