The prompt over at the NaPoWriMo page today was:
Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning.
Walking in Circles
The sun was gone then,
she loved the fog-laced nights
and the passing shadows of strangers,
the anonymous world of streetlights.
The distant twang of a tune from a
bar somewhere down the avenue
was enough to satiate her need
to know she wasn't over entirely alone.
She pushed anxious feet into winter boots,
wrapped her best jacket across
her shoulders, a warm hug from an old friend,
and stepped outside, watched the
distant motion of clouds shrugging
past an oval-faced moon.
She spent the evening
rereading old magazines, clipping words
and images for a haphazardly-arranged
journal collage, an exercise her therapist
deemed therapeutic and revealing.
Let the inner you out to play, allow
the images and words to give your feelings say.
She gazed into the ransom-note-like sentences,
bits of wisdom from rich people who could never
know her suffering, and flipped the book closed.
Lonely for a lost companion, a kind word,
she tried to write a letter but
her hand pushed the words away,
back inside the pit of her mouth, another
lump to swallow with the spinach-fried rice.
She dined alone again, fragile center-piece
of a Mahogony-wood oasis.
The day broke against her curtains,
voices of neighboring children and fast
street cars shaking the panes like an angry surf.
Her morning was a waste, besides the coffee.