Here’s a poem I wrote in response to a photo prompt on Vox Poetica, a photo called Alberta Bound by photographer Michael Lee Johnson.
Stopped by the gate, you pace the place old
wheels have smoothed, tracks so worn
that’s all you see, never mind the fact
they cross over, go on. You believe
in the gate, though your lips shape
other words. Your hands trace the rubbed
wood, paint peeled—listen, you may as well
leave it here. There’s a way out that’s everywhere—
see how the sky goes around and through? Despite
the signs, forgiveness is the usual procedure: an inch
per century pushing up through plates.
The pace isn’t what’s important here. Out
in the estuary the same light grows, seeds
ripen and shake: little fists opening.
I love the tagline for Vox Poetica: “It’s just poetry. It won’t bite.”
I wrote this poem as part of a 30 day poetry challenge I’ve undertaken this August with a friend and fellow poet, and it’s helping me reaffirm that creativity is there in abundance. I don’t have to ration it or fear there won’t be enough. There is plenty there, and plenty of places and people to share it with.