By Thomas Page
I am student teaching a senior level class in Washington, DC. They have to write some poems on these prompts. I decided to try all 30 of them. However, I will not say what the prompt was but what it number was.
The rain poured sideways against the grain of the wood framing the windows
As the banks become the bottom of the river
Pouring out like a greedy Greek chalice.
The water, not clement, rises as it wishes
Imbued with recycled rain from its own body
Now includes the land as its pool.
The torrents as cool as ever filling the cracks in the sidewalk.
The living room becomes the summer cabana
As the water introduces itself into the foyer
As clear as dirty blonde hair
Filling the cracks in the paneling.
The hand reaching out to the other
To climb higher than the clouds
Only to say:
“You have very soft hands.
What moisturizer do you use?”