NaPoWriMo2020 Day Four: In Which the First Poem I Choose to Transcribe from a Notebook Is Actually Seven Typed Pages Long
My worst day of self-quarantine last month was the Friday before it was over on Sunday. I don't know why, but that particular day just felt extra.
I went along and did all the barest bones of rote things I could manage to do. And then, before settling down for bed for the night, a poem crept into my pen and spilled out over eleven journal pages. It was like a writing memoir in verse or something. It just kept going and going.
And it being the darkest mental health day during a dark time in recent history on a dark March night at home alone, in the dark about my health status because no testing was available to me with only the mildest of symptoms and an inept, ill-equipped, ill-prepared national response to the growing pandemic, it was a dark-ass poem, for certain.
After having just typed it up though, I have to say, in my mind, it is damn near perfect. I love her already, just as she is. I don't see myself toiling away and revising as I sometimes do with some other poems. This one is good to go. Go where? I have no idea. But, one typed-up poem is done! 29 more to go!