#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Grapevine on The Charles

Rain, a downpour. I heard it before I opened my eyes. Drenching the new plants. I hear a new line, a new opening line for my poem from last night. I have slept on it, and awake with new insights and direction. I open my poem and revise before walking. Immediately we’re soaked, but it’s warm and inviting and there are wonderful grass puddles and a dripping energy running through the trees. The river and brook are alive with splatter and ripple. And so am I. My poem is rewriting itself. Every comment from last night is getting an answer, intuitively, bubbling up in me. The clover in the meadow is sprinkled and all the pollen settling on every surface is being rinsed off. And, the wedding dress, still hanging in front of the window of my bedroom where I left it. Ready for another wash to be rid, I hope, of the yellowing on the satin slip. Into the tub it goes, sprinkled with Oxi Clean to soak. Then, into the washer, delicate cycle, again. All this handling of the dress, this washing and hanging and drying is familiarizing and my dress is less special with every handling. My bracelet catches on the lace, and it doesn’t rip, but soon enough, these tiny damages will accrue. To the seamstress again this Thursday. I hope the dress will be stainless and ready to begin to be Perri’s, with all the mystique she will invest it with as it transforms.