#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Suzi & Charlie in Rocky Narrows, October Morning

Poem in Process: Yesterday, I continued revising a poem I've been workshopping for months. The impulse for the poem came from a writing workshop with my friend and colleague, the poet Myra Shapiro, last February when we were both presenting at an International Women's Writing Guild conference. Myra handed round a drawstring bag - we reached our hands in, without looking, removed a little something, held it, eyes closed, sensing with touch. We followed with a free write. My little nugget was sticky, nutty, and months later from my notes I wrote a draft of a poem, Peanut Mother. I've workshopped revisions of it twice before, and I planned to bring to workshop it again tonight.

This morning, walking in the woods, I'm hesitant. I won't bring it. Why? I think the poem is better, definitely better. But, is it there yet - in its finished form? Maybe it will never be finished, maybe it isn't worth finishing just to find out - yes, it's a poem, but - it's not an exceptional poem, and so, why am I wasting my - or anyone's - time on it?

Then I remember my needle tented mushroom - the one I've been watching for three days and cannot yet see clearly. This morning it's even more lovely, its delicate ribs showing. I do not know how special it will ultimately be - I may never see it as it's meant to be: whole and complete. Suzi or Charlie or someone may step on it, it would be so easily crushed. The moldy needles may ruin the roof of this mushroom, scarring its smooth white skin. I have only, this morning, my poem and my mushroom, pressing on my concentration, pressing on my limited vision, asking me to be present, have patience, be willing to risk loving what is, unfinished, becoming what I cannot yet conceive.

All photos and words copyright Kelly DuMar, 2016