NaPoMo Day 2 & 3 Poems

Today I made my students poetry editors. I made them choose 4 out of 6 poems (from Lucille Clifton, William Carlos Williams, Jane Kenyon, Langston Hughes, and Galway Kinnell) to include in their literary journals. And they rocked it. They never stop impressing me, these kids.

As for my poems, here are two. One that I've been wanting to write since it snowed in February, and one that I wrote in Litt class today.


Caen sous la neige
On the castle in Caen: to your right a pigeon
lands on, flits off the roof. Straight ahead a man
and a young girl sled down the lawn. Left
of you a boy slips, then tries to play
it off like he was bending down to collect
a snowball, lets it fall through his fingers
when he realizes none of his friends were watching.

At the market: a few vendors knit
themselves into a close circle: a Normand
verger, a boulanger, the fish man, the man
with the beads. The only ones who brave
the sludge for us loyal shoppers, who will carry
our apples and our clementines home
carefully, pointing our feet first
and landing on saltless concrete.

That night you find out that in the right (moon)light
the snow can look like sand shaved with diamonds. Hear
their sprakling crunch beneath your feet.


Après « Education des jeunes filles aux États-Unis »

de Tocqueville, what don't you know
about us young American
women ? In a corner room
in New York, in Philly, in Chicago,
[doesn't matter where really ;
on est tous pareilles quand même]
you lift plume from ink
well. Go ahead, you grand
harmoniste. Harness
those words like you say
we hold our own reigns.
So you need some more
research time ? Spend
years in our pounding
chest, talk to as many jeunes
femmes as you can. And when
you're done, go ahead, give our dossier
to your Europe. I can't wait to feel
its corners, sharp and n'importe ou,
ready to slice any hands
that try to straighten these pages.