Starting when I was an angsty adolescent, and all the way through college, it seemed to me that I "thought" in poetry. That's not really impressive, because my poetry was always of the free verse variety -- it's not like I was speaking in iambic pentameter or anything.
But somewhere along the line, after college, I sort of lost that thought process, and I've spent all the years since alternating between accepting that as something in my past and trying desperately to get it back.
So imagine my surprise when suddenly, this week, little snippets have been coming along. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I was composing a poem, and I kept thinking, "I should get up and write that down." Of course, I didn't, and of course, this morning, I couldn't remember it at all.
But this afternoon, I DID stop and write down a snippet, and damned if it didn't turn into a whole poem -- the first in years.
Granted, it's a very bad poem. But it IS a poem, and it has a little of that voice that I used to have, and that makes me happy. That makes me feel like I've reconnected with an old friend.