Sunday, April 18, 2010

New Space

I have been in Fort Huachuca, Arizona for two weeks now. There are these lush mountains that surround the entire post, watching the sun rise over them is one of the most majestic sights. The sky is ablaze in red and orange, and the city below is nuzzled alive by the sheerness of the early morning light. Coupled with the desert terrain that gives the city a somewhat eerie feel (Tombstone and Cochise -- two historical, and for the most part to this day remain, ghost towns lie not too far from here), it appears a place you would come to visit such as on a family vacation but not a place where you would choose to live, at least in my opinion. The concept of living in a landlocked state would never cross my mind, not because I like the beach so much but more so because access to it, is itself invaluable. For the past two days, the sky has been overcast as though it might rain but so far nothing. One of our instructors says despite how gray and rain-imminent it might look, there was only a twenty percent chance of rain. Then he added that we may not even see rain until August. Apparently it's monsoon season. Bizarre isn't it. So I've also been wishing it would rain here to no avail, but of course it's a desert and more realistic hopes should probably be tried first, like acclimating I suppose.
Either way, I've finally produced something that primarily sums up the experience of the last two weeks with the help of a writing prompt from Chloe Yelena Miller, which I found through the PoetsOnline blog that I'm following. The prompt asks to start with a description of your current location, however specific such as your desk, which I decided to use, or some other place where you began writing and then expand to your surrounding location, expounding on your experiences or sentiments regarding that locale. "new space" is the result of this prompt. It is also a stream-of-consciousness write, having no punctuation or clear end, which I'm fond of for this particular prompt.


its a common space

index cards appointments letters from my mother

hang haphazard from colored pushpins

its a space ive been trying to make my own but

something in the mix of it runs the color

straight out of my cheeks its a melancholy space

perhaps im going about its decoration the wrong

way perhaps there should be less things i ought do

and pick-me-ups and more about me is that self-indulgent

that i need to see more of myself in my work space

i havent been able to write how tragic is that for a so-

called writer were in the new millennium and theres

been a memorandum put out writers block is no longer

a viable excuse for under productivity theres so much

to write about here but im caged stifled by the space ive

created all around this city are mountains capped with

snow that i do not know the name of so close you can

reach forward and seem to touch them the air is thin

about here its as though the beauty is slowly seeking

to choke me now that im here and ive decided to be a

part of it live withinit

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