The Narrows
I sat at the kitchen table searching for words to fit a feeling, while a man, about to be a ghost, stretched his arms wide, I imagine, a small shadow on the water, he leapt into our inland sea. Sometimes language feels insufficient and we must act, or we drown in that wordless feeling. Maybe if the dust of wagon trains still powdered our skin we would’t need them.
(The August Poetry Postcard Project was initiated by Paul Nelson of Seattle, WA. It challenges poets to write a poem a day in one go with no revisions on a postcard. Afterwards, the postcard is mailed to other participants. This is my second year and I had fun making friends along the way. I will be sharing the postcards here, most of which are printed with my photos.)