Picnic basket and summer sun

[alee_grrl]

Sunday, every Sunday, let's have a community picnic. It's probably been a long week, and it's lovely to have a few minutes to sit back and relax and enjoy some good conversation in a less formal space. Feel free to bring something for the Picnic Basket - a poem you liked this week, a thought you had or something you experienced, or even something completely unrelated to poetry whatsoever that you just feel like sharing. Just take a moment to say hello, and maybe have a bite to eat; no one is going anywhere fast, and the shade promises some relief from the everyday heat. Let’s get to know each other a bit better, here under the branches of the poet’s tree.

Comments

[with-rainfall.livejournal.com]

To Myself - Franz Wright

You are riding the bus again
burrowing into the blackness of Interstate 80,
the sole passenger

with an overhead light on.
And I am with you.
I’m the interminable fields you can’t see,

the little lights off in the distance
(in one of those rooms we are
living) and I am the rain

and the others all
around you, and the loneliness you love,
and the universe that loves you specifically, maybe,

and the catastrophic dawn,
the nicotine crawling on your skin—
and when you begin

to cough I won’t cover my face,
and if you vomit this time I will hold you:
everything’s going to be fine

I will whisper.
It won’t always be like this.
I am going to buy you a sandwich.

[alee_grrl]

The rhythm of this poem reminds me of long drives and the rhythm the tires make over the sections of the interstate. It's almost hypnotic. The themes are very similar to the poem Raze shared above (Convenience Store): loneliness, travel to escape, dreams. Thanks for sharing.

[ashestosnow]

Oh, I like this. I like this a lot.

A small love poem to the self, in the middle of that strange state of tedium and fascination and almost altered reality that frequently accompanies travel.

Thank you for sharing.