Kick the Poetry Can’ts #18
Writing letters is another great way to find the poem within a certain situation. For today’s Kick in the Poetry Can’ts, write a letter to someone who is dead, it can be someone you knew or a total stranger, and then turn it into a poem. I find this easiest to just write out the long prose version first and then go back and revise it with a poetic eye.
Here’s my letter poem to a girl who died when she was sixteen.
We were never friends
but I knew who you were
that long, black hair you refused to cut
that cigarette you popped in your mouth as soon as the bell rang
that purple backpack you carried everywhere
that boy you glued yourself to,
not caring who saw you swapping spit
and playing touchy feely games under the bleachers
We were never friends
but I followed you once
not on purpose, okay, maybe I meant to
but I didn’t mean to see him hit you
I didn’t mean to see you cry
I didn’t mean to run away
knocking over the garbage can next to the snack shack
making him growl at me the way he growled at you
making me so afraid
that I forgot about him hitting you
and only thought getting away
before he hit me too.
Later
after
much later
after so much
later I wondered
if I could have saved you
Now
even later
I wonder if I can save myself
–Susan Taylor Brown, all rights reserved
Your turn.
Original art by Susan Taylor Brown
I’ve found second-person writing prompts like this to be very powerful. And I really loved this poem.
Thanks, Jenn.
MY YOUNG LOVE
We were only eight years old
You were my best friend
I was going to marry you
That was always my dream
Or so I thought,I loved you
We were only eight years old
Going to our special school
A sad school,everyone cried
Most kids died, so sickly
I never thought you would
We were only eight years old
Then one day you never came
I tried to find out why
I always thought it was because
You bit your tongue the day before
You were only eight years old
You didn’t deserve to die
I sat all alone that day
In the corner by myself
I cried, nobody even noticed
This has been my secret
I told no one not even you
Then it was all too late
I didn’t even understand
There was nothing I could do
I was only eight years old
- Anne McKenna
Oh Anne, this one brought tears to my eyes. Whether a real person or a madeup person, you hit me in the heart. Good job.
True story actually. They always make the best kind