THE PROMPT: Where does poetry hide? Some possible answers could be “in the dark dusty corner under my bed”, “in the extension of a dancer’s leg”, or perhaps “in the layered harmony of a Pentatonix song”. Look around you. Make a list of some of the unusual places that you find poetry. Use this list as the starting place for a poem. Maybe the list is a poem in itself. Or maybe you’ll find an entire poem tucked in between your sofa cushions. Most importantly, HAVE FUN!
Hidden in the crevices of my oddly-necessary roller teacher bag,
trampled by a sea of puberty amongst three flights of stairs,
lies my poetry, my nirvana, my book of hope, my music
in between pages upon pages of unmarked knowledge–
or lack thereof, poorly disguised by vocabulary words
only meant to be used in the SATs or on “Jeopardy”–
waiting to be judged by the power of my purple pen–
not red, because red is scarring–
and a sticker collection obtained from the Dollar Store
because my hope lives in my wallet,
and hides, stuck, in between the pages of my teacher life.
Beyond my unorganized mess lies my chaotic melody.