undelivered messages….

I set my alarm for 6:30 AM so i could wake up in time to see the afterburn of the space shuttle on its way to Cape Canaveral (SP?) in Florida at 7 AM. I just learned that the shuttle’s approach flight pattern was changed.

it landed safely (thank the Lord) but of course i was disappointed when i didn’t see this once in a lifetime event. i mean, how often does one get to see the space shuttle.  that many millions of dollars literally go flying past you.

and the humiliation.

i’m standing in my front yard faithfully at 6:55 am in my pajamas, robe and slippers with my morning cup of coffee wishing i had a telescope. then laughing at myself when by 7:10 nothing had happened and i wish i had opted for the extra half hour in bed. 

oh well. it’s the thought that counts, right?

anyway, today was an opportunity to write or at least think about writing and investigate some of the contests and magazines for consideration of submissions. everytime i use that word “submission” i think of my mentors and teachers in San Francisco, Suheir Hammad in particular, who revolutionarily declared that she would never “submit.”

She was right–never submit. however i will “share” a piece with you that i wrote earlier today for today’s celebration of National Poetry Month (April 20th). Seventeen poems so far. I hope you like it and that you don’t consider it junk:

turning pages of letters
left out in the rain
exposed to too much moisture
so the paper curls and
the ink runs
exposed to too much heat
the wet turns to dry
and smells of singe
unopened mail
undelivered messages
hold secrets that only
those who know how
to live
can repeat
turning pages of books
we will have to believe
that there are heros
in the world
even though we may not
always see their capes
or shinny boots
or learn their super powers
or witness their leaps over tall buildings
these teacher heros
who teach us to love the written word
and relish the feel of turning
pages and pages
the smell, the feel, the cool
of old books
by Herman Melville,
Sir Author Canon Doyle
James Baldwin
Richard Wright
and old poems
scores of old poems
and haikus
in boxes and bags
lying about
these are the tools of heros

At first blush, it seems like a rambling of a crazy lady–absolutely!

And to all a good night!

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