I learned about #sundaysentence on writer-poet @ErikaDreifus’ The Practicing Writer blog. The Sunday Sentence project, started by author @ImDavidAbrams, encourages people to share – “out of context and without commentary” – the best sentence they’ve read during the past week.

So much glorious, profound, and quirky writing to be found at that Twitter hashtag. I used the tweets as a writing prompt for tonight’s poem. Of course.



Far, Far Country


Mystery meant, at first, a closing of the mouth, the eyes.
An agreement   yes, yes, I understand   that something
would not be disclosed     that I would be out in the world
alone, among others     and all of a sudden    I know something
endless and dark wants its way through, to take my bones
out one by one, to swallow and dissolve. For there could be
no belonging for a creature such as myself, anywhere. My due
it seems is running   always running    from the dimmest shadow.

Mystery, too, the places we are born that come back, marrow to us.
They are bred into us. If we were turned inside out, our birthplaces
would be maps cut into the wrong side of our skin. All so we could
find our way back to that far, far country. As if births were dreams
and the world is dreaming within those dreams. It matters not
whether we sleep or wake, whether there is a country    far away
or otherwise.  There is a world    where lives flicker and unspool
that does remember us, that does want what is its own returned.

Curious to see more of my writing?  Visit me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – on Facebook, Twitter, and my website.

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