First Things

Sometime last year I decided to be William Stafford. He would write a poem every morning between 4 and 7 am, and this I would imitate. I haven't been consistent about the early rising part, but it hasn't mattered. Simply purposing to write a poem every day has had a powerful effect. I'm still making it a practice, most mornings, before brain and life have made their plans. It's writing First Thing. Before food has been consumed, clothes have been assembled. My poem is a poem because I say so. That's it. What often show up in First Things are my dreams. January 25 I dreamed I was being arrested by a weird police officer who held a green taser gun to my nose. All I had done was to pick up a stack of library books. Evidently I was breaking the law. Could it be my conscience is grappling with my struggle to return library books on time? A wonderful play by Glen Berger is Underneath the Lintel, performed by Portland Center Stage a couple years ago. The story revolves around a library book overdue for a hundred and thirteen years. In Wildfire Writing we've been talking about taboos. Is there a rule, silly or otherwise, which you could break and write about? The best rules for breaking are the ones you've made up yourself, such as: "I could never write a poem in a single morning!" Just watch out for that green taser gun.