Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!
Our prompt was: “Write about something forgotten and remembered.”
More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!
Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.
Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!
Cicadas at the End of Summer by Martin Walls Whine as though a pine tree is bowing a broken violin, As though a bandsaw cleaves a thousand thin sheets of titanium; They chime like freight wheels on a Norfolk Southern slowing into town. But all you ever see is the silence. Husks, glued to the underside of maple leaves. With their nineteen fifties Bakelite lines they'd do just as well hanging from the ceiling of a space museum — What cicadas leave behind is a kind of crystallized memory; The stubborn detail of, the shape around a life turned The color of forgotten things: a cold broth of tea & milk in the bottom of a mug. Or skin on an old tin of varnish you have to lift with lineman's pliers. A fly paper that hung thirty years in Bird Cooper's pantry in Brighton. Credit: www.poetryfoundation.org