Three Quick Word Arts

I was reawakened in Erik Ehn's 30 day virtual silent playwriting retreat last July.
I'm craving that kind of submersion again, especially of the in-person variety. We did much much much that month, making/reading/writing intentionally TOO much, with big pockets of stillness, silence invited throughout. We created in all disciplines and I often felt back at my MFA Program at CIIS, the first academic environment where I felt at home. Here are a few remnants, scrappy poem cut-ups/blackouts that helped me move forward in my process toward a larger thing.

Oh you green and luscious
peat moss, fruit of my hips

hair in mouth
light in eyes

sink
my unaligned posture
form pressing me down

small breeze, nuthatch on elm

I'll one day stop making up for lost time
and the death of everyone I love

I threw up twice from the heat
and cookie dough ice cream

squeezed my eyes tight
into tomorrow
into home

A big emptying out
rotting cold astroturf
we slept in oceans of smoke
my upper half went numb

What is the color of sun?
A family escaping
overloaded raft made of scrap wood, piles

House on fire, they lost everything
Drifting apart into Pacific

A choke pulsed up
My heart sparks
me in their folds, their kingdom

Clouds pressed on through the wind
I hope inside you are bright