Flapping-Dirty Wings

This is the poem I wrote in the poetry therapy workshop. The prompt came from a poem about some being judged. I think there were report cards in it. Reminded me of when I used to give myself a monthly report card on my New Year’s Resolutions. I put it on Facebook with a picture of something healthy I was eating.

It’s strange that cooking and making food can seem so daunting; some people are too depressed; some have some other issue. When I get to it and make something new I’m struck by how easy it is. It’s just getting the right thing and chopping. The chopping feels like so much work.

Here’s the poem:

I often want to drop out;

I give myself Cs and Ds and everyone else As.

I want to drop into the well

And disappear

And fall into the place with

The key to the garden, like

Alice

And go to Wonderland.

Where everything is backwards, upside down and familiar, where the only grade is a gradation or a grave.

Where report cards

Talk and argue with each other

About what they’re reporting.

Then they flap open and turn into birds,

Ravens flapping their wings.

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