Bragging Rights

Early Sunday morning I completed my first half marathon.

For twelve hours, from 7:00 pm Saturday night to 7:00 am Sunday morning, I joined hundreds of poets from around the world in writing a poem an hour for twelve or twenty-four. Hosted by Caitlin and Jacob Jans from Toronto, I opted for twelve. Having the choice of joining the first or the last half, I elected the latter, knowing my preference for writing in the dark stillness as the day begins or ends. And given a recent bout of mid insomnia, waking like clockwork around 3:00 am (and what I learned during the marathon is called the “hour of the wolf”), I figured I’d be OK for the duration. And I was.

Once registered and having completed the online orientation, I took a peek at posts sharing preparation tips and writing strategies. I kept it simple by jotting down a few inspiring phrases that I’d heard or read last week, trusting they’d provide enough light structure for creating. I made snacks from leftovers, abstained from wine at dinner instead drinking an “americano,” and brewed several mugs of black tea over the course.

Funny thing is, I almost missed the start. By four hours!

Hard to believe, given I’d just been in Ontario and regularly call my parents, that I would have mixed up time zones. Instead of grokking that the official start time of 9:00 am EDT would be 7:00 am my time, I somehow thought it was 11:00 am. Ambivalence was definitely at play, though intention won the day, as arriving to my studio after supper Saturday, puttering around and getting organized, I thought I’d check in on the proceedings shortly after 7. There I saw the prompt posted for Hour 13, and recalled that was to be my start for the half marathon.

Thankfully, during my puttering, I’d given thought to writing a “found” poem from the book titles sitting on my desk in front of me. And that became my first poem, giving me a time to catch my breath and race upstairs to share my near calamity with Sig.

My strategy proved effective as I weaved a line I’d written down with Caitlin’s hourly verbal and/or visual prompts. I experimented with form, writing haiku, haibun, list, abecedarian, ekphrastic, and free verse. I realized my objective of creating some fresh pieces and successfully wrote a poem an hour, posting, and reading a few other entries.

With eyes “scorched” from twelve hours online, and a mushy brain that continued to compose even as I fell into bed at 7 am, I concluded that what I’d done once I’d not do again. But with rest and time outside planting my herbs and salad greens, and a more thoughtful review of my writing, I’ll reconsider.

While most of us conceded our efforts are at best “sh…tty first drafts” (thanks, Anne Lamott), several of mine are rough pearls in need of a polish to shine.

And I get to join four hundred global poets claiming bragging rights.

Thank Goodness for A Found Poem — when I confused time zones!
the carrying of apples on a windowsill,
when bright dead things become the creative act,
and the book of alchemy transcends the hurting kind

What kind of daughter messes up the time zone and writes
her first half marathon poem from book titles
sitting on her desk in front of her?

Rattle—d, but a smart one.

(Book titles in italics from the following authors in order of use: Ada Limón, Shawna Lemay, Ada Limón, Rick Rubin, Suleiaka Jaouad, Ada Limón, Rayanne Haines, Timothy Green (ed))

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.