From a Sunday Morning Write With a Friend

Every Sunday morning a writing friend and I connect via telephone. She suggests a prompt, or I do, and we spend an hour composing poetry and prose. This is what came of this rainy morning's collaboration.

Chorus Line

rain, slipping down

from a colorless sky,

lines its drops

along a branch—

one, three, six,

trembling,

a chorus line

waiting to perform;

two hydrogen,

one oxygen,

bringing their own light,

their own music,

they wobble, quiver,

plummet,

the reflections of

everything around them

changing as they fall;

now gray sky,

now crenellated trunk,

now green blades

pushing up from

the thirsty earth.

One Sentence Poem

Compose a poem using these words: molecule, zig-zag, shoestring, calico, quiet, tree

Do molecules follow a zig-zag path

or do they stretch themselves out

like the trunk of a tree,

like a shoestring, a quiet line,

like the thread in a calico quilt

holding everything together?