Itching Taste: A Poem
Sharing a simple poem that sprung from my Morning Pages practice today.
I, like many creatives, practice author Julia Cameron’s habit of “The Morning Pages.” Three daily pages, written by hand as close as possible to waking. Not familiar with the practice? Read yogi and writer, Lauren Aune’s essay on it here first.
Today’s Morning Pages grew a poem. Enjoy. Tell me if you can relate. Tell me what you yearn for.
Recommended Soundtrack:
Itching Taste
I’m really itching for something, not sure what…
Powdered energy, a cigarette, nicotine gum, vodka, marijuana, running, a trip to Gilligan’s Island, a fitted red dress, brand new shoes.
It’s a strange itching like I forgot how to taste.
My thoughts are a child learning algebra.
I look for a missing blanket, the ghost of a threadbare cotton t-shirt.
My mother cut it with scissors into a pie wedge for me to carry, Big Bird’s smiling face, but instead, I cried.
I searched for a hug or a drug.
For something, something, something.
Always something…
But what replaces what was lost?
A banana milkshake
An earthquake
A Nigerian dwarf goat
Good vibrations
Old records
Designer dogs
Weightloss, weightlessness
Sugar
God
A cold swimming pool on a humid, electric Sunday
Waiting for a plump apricot to fall from its tree’s hand
Again, a forgotten taste.
A Maserati or an airplane
A handsome man with soft lips, supple skin, and calm eyes whispering words of “I love you.”
“You are beautiful exactly as you are.”
I love this, Charlotte. I prefer to just read completely through a poem without really thinking about it in the moment; I try to keep my logical mind from getting in the way of things, if you know what I mean. Itching Taste triggered a feeling of deep familiarity, and an echo of something difficult to articulate. Memories, I suppose.