This is an improv of "My Father's Love Letters." It’s not that great but it’s only a first draft.
Every day it was the same,
Walk, kiss, wave.
Her hand in mine,
Smooth from rolling dough
Guided me towards the door.
But this time it was different,
My friend’s were there.
I looked up to see her
Leaning down.
Her tulips pressing against
My forehead.
If only I could suck,
In my skull.
She smiled,
Oblivious to what she had done.
Her hand archs in the air,
But all I see is a blur of fingers.
Her love was her only redemption.
I love this because my son is at that stage where I have to be very careful about the way I show him affection - ESPECIALLY in front of friends!! I specifically like "If only I could suck/In my skull" and "all I see is a blur of fingers."
ReplyDeleteNice job :)
We want to be a tad careful, too, of affective reasoning. Even if we can't relate to it, even if we don't have kids, we can still appreciate the work. We just want to base our appreciation on the work itself and not on how well it mirrors our own circumstances.
DeleteOne of the most important parts of a university education--besides your primary course material--is the ability to empathize, to think in terms of metaphor. What does that feel like? What are the merits of that opposing position? Try as much as you can to approach the work from the standpoint of an artist.
Be careful of sentimentality, here. True, you have to risk sentimentality much of the time, if you want to write. You have to "risk" it, though, without giving over to it. Think of how Komunyakaa avoided it with those surroundings, the workshop, the odd imagination that places the mother in some far off place.
ReplyDeleteAnd emphasize showing more than telling. Show us how that time was "different." Show us "redemption."