What I Want to Tell You

We often do a writing exercise in class in one of the classes I teach where the sentence prompt is What I Want to Tell You. Sometimes, I do it too. Today because it is August 28 a day that seems full of August and September and this fast crazy summer, a summer of a grandchild, a summer of New Mexico, a summer of the world falling apart and coming together, a summer of violence and constant attempts at reconciliation, a summer that couldn’t possibly, even for the sake of a poem, be summarized, in a word or two or three. This summer I want to tell you this.

When I think of words
I am one of those people
words all over
pieces of paper
I lose those papers
writing words trying to remember
small woman in the supermarket she told me
her eggplant was the spitting image
of Richard Nixon this is my life,
although it goes by so quickly
especially summers when days
more beautiful than beautiful
begin and end before I can write
them down when I try to tell you
about the world
and my sitting
on the porch I am writing a few things down
what I want to tell you
is how life, small wonderful
bright yellow life how life
can happen if you watch and if you try
to write it down

Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.

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