Day 7: Before my first cup of tea, I open the computer, a tab already set to NaPoWriMo. What is the prompt for the day? Here we go down memory lane.
Now our (optional!) prompt: keeping to the theme of poetry’s value, Wallace Stevens famously wrote that “money is a kind of poetry.” So today, I challenge you to write about money! It could be about not having enough, having too much (a nice kind of problem to have), the smell, or feel, or sensory aspects of money. It could also just be a poem about how we decide what has value or worth.
In those days after we said I do and you stomped on a glass,
and the piano player didn’t know “My Funny Valentine,”
we lived in the pop up VW van, faded red with madras curtains.
Gas was $1.19 a gallon. Then we moved into a horse stall
and worked day and night on theatre, creating
designing, rehearsing and perfoming with the troupe
along the northeast shore. Besides food stamps ,
we worked at the local food co-op and ate well.
A jug of zinfandel lasted all week. Nobody
had any more than we did. Some ate red meat.
Some smelled of garlic in that pre-vegan world.
I wrote for the Mime Times. Nothing paid.
We lived, laughed, cried and performed
in the barn that was our theatre and bonded
whether we were straight or stoned.