Love

A Poem

Before taking up my teacher ed program, I was working on my MFA in creative writing. I miss the days of playing with words, pondering my feelings, and pursuing my own intellectual queries. While it's been a long time since I've picked up the pen and battled with the blank page, all this uncertainty has rattled me to the core. The professional has merged with the personal, and I feel really lost. Writing, particularly poetry, is one way I cope. I almost never share what I write, but for some reason I want to share this one with you.

A Metaphor

How careless to have burned my thumb

on the oven rack.  I jump;

startled from my numb,

watch the pink flesh wilt—

little heat arrows

burrow then simmer.

Sink water will not do

to halt the pluck

of the nerve,

to unfeel this feeling.

I am armed—it’s a coup:

brown bottle, fizz

ointment-smothered.

Pain is no match for instinct;

wrap it up, hide the mark.

Sensation suffocated,

held hostage,

stifled, walled-off.

Strange what one touch can spark.