Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Anadarko.


Hopelessness tastes
like red dirt
and it
smells like
cigarettes
and asphalt
on Fridays
in empty parking
lots with empty
nights and empty
pockets and empty
minds.

Helplessness looks
like a mirror
and it
tastes like
silence.
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11 comments:

  1. AnonymousMarch 8, 2011 at 12:03 PM

    Creative Writing 1!

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  2. MichelleMarch 8, 2011 at 12:11 PM

    Rachel, this is so well done! I love the way you always weave sensory words into your writing, inviting us to join you on the journey. Keep 'em coming!

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  3. @okieprofMarch 8, 2011 at 12:11 PM

    Terrific...love "like red dirt..."

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  4. LukasMarch 8, 2011 at 12:11 PM

    This is a little William Carlos Williams-ish. Very well done.

    ReplyDelete
  5. codybromMarch 8, 2011 at 12:20 PM

    But what does silence taste like?

    ReplyDelete
  6. LyssMarch 8, 2011 at 12:21 PM

    I enjoy this poem greatly!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Taylor PointsMarch 8, 2011 at 12:55 PM

    Going to be honest here, I am definitely hungrier after reading that.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Chantal R.March 8, 2011 at 1:08 PM

    Good job, Rachel. I love this poem. Wish I was that creative!

    ReplyDelete
  9. CaitlinMarch 8, 2011 at 6:23 PM

    Reading this stirs something in me...
    I want to go back and just love on Anadarko.

    I love you.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Yogi♪♪♪March 9, 2011 at 4:22 AM

    Wow, just wow.

    ReplyDelete
  11. MeganMarch 9, 2011 at 7:25 PM

    Love the poem and "red dirt" definitely sums up most of Anadarko. I remember ruining so many clothes growing up.

    ReplyDelete

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