April is National Poetry Month. It has been so since 1996.
It is not lost on me that 1996 was when I was in college and writing the bulk of my bad, sulky poetry.
There’s something about that phase of life, standing on the precipice between childhood and adulthood. Trying to figure out the content of one’s character.
I’ve noticed that often, in our local storytelling events, that time of life is a go-to for the best stories. It’s when we mess up the biggest. We learn the biggest and sometimes most painful lessons. Most of them are not in the classroom.
Because of the transient nature of my family’s life, and then my own as an adult, I’ve lost most of the archival material from my childhood and college years. It was a time before everything was on your Google drive and photographed for Facebook.
Still, I have a few things here and there, scraps tucked into folders and books.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I’m going to publish a poem of mine or a favorite poem by another author every few days. I hope you enjoy!
P.S. Speaking of poetry, read my previous post, a tribute to Mary Oliver.