Exposing My Baby

A couple of my loyal followers have requested that I place some of my poetry on this blog. To honor them and thank them for being loyal followers, I will post the occasional poem if it relates to the issues about which I write. Feel free to ignore them.

Offering a poem (or story) for critique is often referred to as "putting one's baby on the [sacrificial] altar." This is more like simply exposing it to the elements. But here you go. It's a pantoum, a type of poem that repeats lines in a strict pattern. I have trouble with them, but unlike the villanelle, I enjoy this challenge.

The Public-Private Dichotomy

They still walk our halls.

We find the ghosts of the girls here before

In forgotten notes and writing on the walls;

They smile in our mirrors, stand outside our doors.

We find the ghosts of the girls here before

Laughing, “We were you!”

They wave to the people standing at our door:

We take on their work, but try to make it new.

Asking, “Where were you?”

Eyes peer into ours. We see the need

For the work that we must try to make anew.

After each hard day we leave,

Our eyes faced back on unmet needs,

Names on our lips, hearts held behind.

Each day we find it hard to leave:

When we’re gone we know we’ll find

Names still on our lips, hearts held behind

In forgotten notes and writing on the walls.

In our comfortable homes we’ll find:

They still walk our halls.