Go Ahead

Go Ahead

Fog hovers over fields, and
blue hovers over fog, and
what’s with all the hovering?
All the inching close 
and almost?

If you want to be
wet and gray, then 
go ahead,
wrap me in rain.
If you want to be
a burn of blue,
go ahead,
scorch me.  

The Prompt

If I’m totally honest, I don’t quite know what my poem means. It’s just what spilled out while I was walking a couple days ago. But it was a sticky spill because I’ve found bits of this poem sloshing about in my brain every since. A verse from Revelations sits adjacent to it in my mind, even though it’s been a good 15+ years since I sat in a pew—”because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.”

The word that pops for me here is “lukewarm.” I am not a fan of lukewarm (apparently, the biblical God isn’t either). I like my feelings served up big and bold, no matter which feelings they are. I like life served up big and bold, meaning that I like to feel wide open to it so that even the supposedly mundane (first sip of coffee, first note of birdsong, last hug with my kiddos before we all tuck in for the night) hits me like a glorious punch to the gut.

But that might just be me. What does the word “lukewarm” conjure for you? How do you feel about lukewarm coffee? Lukewarm emotions? Lukewarm bath water? Lukewarm relationships? What do you feel lukewarm about right now? Are there places in your life where lukewarm sounds absolutely lovely and you wish for more of it?

If you’d like a prompt to play with, then I invite you to sit with and explore that word, “lukewarm,” as well as any sensations, memories, or longings it pulls up for you. Or you can go with the word “spue,” if you’d rather. I will never be the person to tell you that you shouldn’t write a poem inspired by spue.

I’m curious . . .

Going back to what I mentioned about my own poem feeling a little mysterious to me, I’m curious about your own experiences with that. This feels like a relatively new phenomenon to me—writing words that feel like they express something that’s true inside me without my knowing (or even feeling like I need to know) exactly what that thing is. Have you had that experience with your own poetry? When that happens, do you try to pin the meaning down? What is the role of mystery in your writing process?

As I’m typing all of this, it’s dawning on me that maybe the fact that I’m beginning to write things that feel more mysterious to me signals that I’m getting comfortable with taking more risks as a writer. If that’s the case, then it’s certainly thanks in large part to all of you lovely and supportive readers/writers here. Thank you!

I look forward to reading your poems and reflections!