Before the Poem

Before the Poem

Before I write a poem,
I must wake to the world. 

Before ink on the page,
sun on my face.

Before ink on the page,
salt in my eyes
and in my wounds.  

Before words with any 
weight at all, this wait
in my body. I am curving
like an ear to hear.

Speak, sweet oracle!
Sweet viscera!
Dear bones!

Your servant is ready,
pen in hand, poised
for epiphany.

. . .

Really?
That’s it?
Go take a nap?  

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

The Prompt

I am tired. Bone tired. Feels-like-all-my-joints-are-breaking-down tired. Has-everyone-around-me-always-been-this-annoying tired. Maybe you’ve been there once or twice or almost every moment of your adult life?

I no longer consider exhaustion a badge of honor. It’s my body telling me something—and probably not for the first time. So I’m lying low today. And I’m trying to keep my workload as light as I can in the week ahead. When I push through exhaustion, it’s not just my body that suffers. My creativity withers. My kindness atrophies. I stop feeling like myself.

Poems haven’t been gushing out of my head/heart at their usual rate these past few weeks. Instead, my inner muse keeps delivering these messages: slow down, rest, go to bed early, take a nap, cancel this, say no to that. Don’t work so hard, work soft. I guess you can connect the dots of what inspired today’s poem. In the interest of honoring my body and muse, I’m planning to take next week off from posting here on 100 Poems. So your next regular post from me will come on the weekend of June 7-8. I’ll still be around reading and enjoying your comments, though!

If you would like a prompt to play with today, then I invite you to interview a part of your body. Let your attention sweep down the length of your body. Is there a particular part that’s talking to you? An achy toe? An inflamed elbow? A blissfully relaxed shoulder?

Choose a part of your body (it can be a big area, if you prefer, like the whole of your legs). Give it your attention. As you breathe, sense the oxygen flowing to this part of you. Notice its temperature, its level of tension, and any other sensations that might be present there. Keep breathing into that space. Notice any shifts that happen as you do.

Now if you’re feeling spunky, dial up your woo-woo settings just a little, and ask this part of your body what it would like you to know—what message it has for you. The answer might come in words, or it might come in images, sensations, or even longings. See if you can wrap all of this in curiosity. See if you can wrap that part of your body in a sense of compassion.

If you get an urge to ask your body part weird and specific questions—what’s your favorite color? favorite holiday? if you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?—go for it. Who doesn’t need a little more silliness in their life?

As you play with all of this, it’s possible stories or memories will come up, too. (If you have significant unprocessed trauma, I recommend surrounding yourself with sources of comfort while you engage in all this, and please only do as much as feels appropriate for you.) Maybe the knee that is aching now is also the one you skinned when you fell off your bike as a child. Or maybe it’s the knee that you dropped to when you proposed to your spouse. Maybe that knee has carried you across the finish line of countless races or down the streets of a city you love.

Can you send breath not only to this part of your body but to the whole of its history? As you feel your way into that arc, do you feel other messages or truths rising from that part of your body?

Whatever has come up for you—and whatever hasn’t—let that be the prompt for your poem. Trying really hard to hear messages from your right elbow but instead hearing only the chiming of your phone, the droning of your refrigerator, the rumbling of your gut . . . that could be a poem, too. Discovering that your woo-woo dial is stuck on zero and won’t budge even a little? Also a poem. In short, you don’t even have to like this prompt . . . and it could still be a prompt. Poems are everywhere, friends. I hope you find the ones that are meant for you! I’d love to read them in the comments thread.