Whoah, Day 30. We are doing pretty awesome. 

Last night, I worked on a new piece, and I’m happy with a large part of it. I’m going to share two sections here: 

***

No one asks, but quiet murmurs

in the living room of neighbors.

Chatter spreads secrets like a colony of ants

invading a home to find food,

climbing up a door frame to the kitchen.

A husband sprays, and they all writhe,

sticking to the wall until they are wiped away.

***

My grandfather had ants in his house

nesting in the walls; the wood groaning

with the munching of time.

He was very emphatic on how important

it was to get rid of them; to repair

the damage.

He wanted to fix everything.

I didn’t understand then:

it was about so much more.

***

This is an exerpt from a poem titled “The Plains,” and itself is the work of a larger collection of my best poetry. 

It’s these poems that, I think, have defined my style as distinctively American, and very Midwest. I guess it’s good to know where one comes from, but also good to realize that people can identify your writing among other literary writers and groups of a similar style. That’s inspiring.