This is a poem, I suppose, written in response to a prompt at our first ever writing retreat this past weekend. The prompt was to think of of one thing I came across during the day and describe it without using any adjectives (the use of color is allowed). I chose to write about an "iffiffy," which is what my father used to call the little white floating remnants of dandelions. I had just finished talking about him with a fellow warrior when, walking back to my bungalow, I was swept up in a huge swarm of these iffifies that seemed to appear out of nowhere. I smiled and said hello to my old man, and I knew I had found my topic for the prompt. Iffiffy
White wanderer Effortlessly winding Through the wind. Run your dancing strands Across my face. A tickle. A sniffle. A memory of the man I love And then it comes Achoo! An iffiffy Is an iffiffy, You said, Because they have this way To invade And make you sneeze. But an iffiffy In my eyes Is an iffiffy Because I've internalized Everything you Ever said to me.
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AuthorChicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird. Categories
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January 2019
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