Turtle Crossing the Road

[Cita]

The beat of the heat is a refrain as we strain toward the hope of rain with dust under our feet and the crust of dried-up ponds mocking the month and the dense blue of the rueful rural sky.

Everyone says the same thing when they gather, palaver, an old fashioned word that has seen other dry-fry summers, and I wonder as we stand there in the hot wind and slow burn which of these be-hatted men are also mourning the loss of lust  when the sheet is kicked away by impatient feet and even the early morning is another long wait, grate, uneasy fate, gray slate of un-puffed morning sunrise, then red red red.

There is no poetry in July.

The old timers talk of monsoons, coming always soon, thunderstorm noons, no clouds until midday tunes.

The sweat dampens the bottom layer of my hair and the cold beer in my hand doesn't stay cold, and the conversation is getting old, chances sold, may I put my livestock cards down, fold, hold instead the aces of "weather worries are for peasants," for drought stories told, Steinbeck.

Even those old men look bewildered and hopeless as we speak of shipping cows before they get thin.

Dear Fellow Writers:

The well feels dry right now so I am reveling in your words, your writings, even while I beg my fingers to move across the page with their usual fervor rather than this long slow slog of belabored subject matter and prose.  But, I have faith that the well-spring will rise again.  Until then, be patient with me, please.  With Love.  A

[Mike Handley]

Do it.

[Cita]

Whew.  We broke through the drought-wall here in our mountains.  2 inches in 2 days.  Can't tell you how lovely it all is now.  Truly... thank you for reading and thank you for your patience (and thank you for saying it wasn't necessary).  Though written during what was a slog for me, it seems that perhaps I will lift this one and try to polish it enough for performance purposes.  

[Scarlett Rose]

I actually shook my head during this. I SHOOK MY HEAD. Because it's wonderful and I couldn't really handle that fact so late at night (near midnight here). And then I read your little P.S at the end and shook my head again. Because it was so unnecessary, so, SO unnecessary.

I'm so glad that I was absent for so long and when I came back, you were still here. You'll always write, and you'll always have something to say and that well-spring will rise again.

Love B X

[Jamie Hogan]

How about if I skip the patience and just continue to wonder at your talent?

 

I read this as if maybe you were writing from the perspective of a half-drunk writer very near heat stroke. It babbles and wanders and betrays what you are, what I would suspect we all are, at heart - mere poets. Don't ask for patience. You don't need it.

[Mike Handley]

Thanks for throwing the covers our way.

[Joey Delgado]

I disagree with you, Cita. Poetry is everywhere in July. Your piece is bona fide proof. :)

[Angela]

I enjoyed the semi-rhyming of this, and line three says a lot about how I feel.  T's words of encouragement are far greater than anything I could manage on my own, so listen to her.

[Bill Floyd]

Yes to everything T said, and damn, this is pretty good if it's you in a dry mode.  I, too, felt like this is something I was hearing you read aloud for an appreciative audience.  PS--The way to keep your beer from getting warm is to drink it real fast.    

[Teresa]

I envisioned you at a poetry gathering as I read this, or sitting on a sofa in Blowing Rock, your words keeping time with your heart.

Patient with you?  We adore you.  Patience is a given but in this instance, I'm not feeling it's called for.  You could write a series of commas, dashes and question marks and I'd read it.  Relax.  You're brilliant.  Your creativity feels constipated right now, unable to see light.  Eat bowel-friendly sunshine.  Sit with yourself.  Write shit if you have to, but don't forget to share it.  It's part of process. 

Sit.  Write.  Sit.  Write.  Sit.  Write.  Write.  Write.  Write........write.......write........write...write-write-write

We love you.

[Gita]

Aha! Yes! The death of lust in the heat of summer. However, a splash together in a lake/river/creek/pool can change everything.