and raised
in Southern
Horses raced, girls laughed;
clinging bareback, flying.
Wave soaked salty copper skin.
Leaving the city, climbing up
the mountain where she rested, and wrote —
silken strands of water falling from streams.

Prompt: Margo’s Wordgathering for writing a poem about self – a creation myth of sorts.

And a big thank you to Poets United for featuring me on their Life of a Poet series of interviews.ย  Everything you ever wanted to know about me…and probably more.ย  ๐Ÿ˜€


10 thoughts on “Self

  1. Love the last line. Okay, you say you aren’t thrilled. Take away the form and write what you think you want to write. See what happens. Only, of course, should you be curious enough to stay with it.

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