This week the young Viking writers used vintage photos to write stories in a poetic form about strangers. They used Warsan Shire’s poem “Backwards” as inspiration on how to write mirror poems. I’m proud of the poets I’m publishing below.
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“It is September” by Sherie M.
It is September, early days, I faced my fear, in a haze, clowns that haunted dreams at night, therapy began, a tenser fight. In September, 1962, in a time so dark still I must fix my nervous center. My mother and aunt along side me being fierce defenders . With a trembling heart I took a stand, in ’62 I became a man.
I became a man in ’62 with a trembling heart I took a stand, with each heartbeat eager to goal in therapy’s embrace I found my soul. My mother and aunt along side me ready to abide by me. In September 1962, I no longer felt blue.
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“Leaving Here” by Piper J.
Johnny is used to white button-ups, plaid ties, and fancy basic shoes. He is used to his wife Mary pleasing him. She wants to please him so much that she lets them leave. They leave for Washington, leaving their home behind them. Never coming back. But they aren’t going together, no she has to do her job as the president’s personal flight attendant. Meaning the couple has no idea when they will meet again and so this picture is their last one together at their home.
Meaning the couple has no idea when they will meet again and so this picture is their last one together at their home. But they aren’t going together, no she has to do her job as the president’s personal flight attendant. Never coming back. She wants to please him so much that she lets them leave. They leave for Washington, leaving their home behind them. He is used to his wife Mary pleasing him. Johnny is used to white button-ups, plaid ties, and fancy basic shoes.
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“She stands alone” by Gracen
She stands alone
cut off from what she once knew
by an uneven cut made from sharp scissors
she smiles
cigarette in hand
it’s the only way to forget
even though she hates it
the rush love once gave her
the note scribbled on the back
she thought she recognized
in the smoke.
In the smoke
she thought she recognized
the note scribbled on the back
the rush love once gave her
even though she hates it
it’s the only way to forget
cigarette in hand
she smiles
by an uneven cut made from sharp scissors,
cut off from what she once knew
she stands alone.
