the story begins "it was a cool day in November"
but what the story fails to mention
is that "cool" on this side of the planet,
in the belly of the beastly jungle,
is really rather hot.
too hot to walk on sand without shoes
too hot to sit out in the sun's rays
without your face burning to red,
no matter what color you started out as.
alas, it was November. the very first day of the month.
the very first day of the very first November
as it was recorded in our history.
it was a Thursday.
the best firsts usually are.
2 comments:
How are so you so good at poetry?
hmmn... i remember it was while watching the vma's on tv with my sister, and maybe my mom. i was 12, and lauren hill was performing. and i felt so moved, i wrote my first poem. lauren hill hasn't really done a whole lot since. i think her muse transferred to me. but also, that might be ridiculous. i remember it so clearly though. the words coming to me as i looked in the mirror after crying a little at her performance. i was truly inspired.
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