weekend post

Hi all, just a quick post before embarking on a weekend of writing and knitting. It seems to me that I am like the last cell in a dying body here, with not too many folks responding or posting. Please get out the word that this is a good place to talk about poetry, a good place to TRY some poems and to express whatever is on your minds having to do with writing as art, as healing, as balm for the weak and weary world. 

Here is a prompt for the weekend:

Face, over-wintered by ___________, she sags into

Here is mine (this is a draft, done on the fly, so not so great at this point):

Mae's Rest

Face over-wintered by age, she sags into the chair

Elmer fashioned out of birdseye maple, the year they married. Its cushion 

is bare and shiny, the imprint of her permanent now. Here she nursed

four babies, loved them back from fevers and measles. The rockers 

squeak like her bones as she settles to rest in the greying afternoon. 

Ice clicks along the window, slipping to the ground and shattering, 

as she will one day.  In the moment before sleep soothes her, she sees faces 

and formsall around her: parents, husband, the babe that did not survive

his first winter. It would be so easy to go where they are, to click down the pane 

and settle to the ground. A whistle in the distance: tea is ready on the stove.