Finding beauty [poem: free bird]

I’ve been busy this week turning handwritten JulieBooks into less appealing, but easier to read and share, typed versions. I had lost track of how many pieces I’d written in the last year and a half and was surprised by the number of titles in the “poetry” folder on my laptop. But the fine-tuning, one of the hardest parts, is still to come. Thanks to everyone who’s shared their thoughts about the work I’ve posted so far. I promise to have a new work in progress for your review next week! If you want to join in and haven’t subscribed to the blog yet, just scroll to the bottom of the right-hand column.

In the meantime, I’m sitting in the shade of a lilac bush on a summer evening, sipping a mojito made with my first mint cutting of the season and recalling a California summer when I tried to teach a trio of Marines how to make mojitos and they tried to teach me how to repair an old Ford pickup. I think they learned their lesson better than I did mine. Even though I left unable to tell a crankshaft from a camshaft, the experience led to this piece:

free bird

Sometimes I feel I’ve failed
Lost my title of artist
of objective
Lost my ability to see
what sits under a mask
I feel I’ve failed
when I can’t see the beauty of
a few pieces of metal and rubber
stuck at a standstill
peeling in the sunlight
I don’t understand what is attractive
about seeing the pavement
through floorboards
I feel no need
to pull greasy parts from under the hood
or scuffle on my back behind a tire
I just want to move
smoothly and swiftly
curling up between your shoulder and the gear shift
cozy and close and free

—Julie Laing
Tracks
© 1999

Hear this poem here.

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