OH. So this is a poem that I wanted feedback on. Should I send this to my old creative writing teacher, or wait until something better comes along?
Holding the Night
There is some specific feeling…
(I don't know what)
that comes when
it's dark
and late,
and mine are the only headlights on the road
and my window is
all the way down,
letting in both the rumble of my tires on the pavement
and the breeze that
carries night with it.
…so tonight,
I put off the safety of sleep –
my bed, with its pink stripped sheets,
the nightlight in the hall,
the drone of a fan on my leg –
and turned the radio up,
not loud enough to intrude
on the dark
but enough that I could
sing along softly to myself.
I thought of the ocean,
seagulls, sandcastles,
the wind.
I thought of you,
and of poetry.
And I drove on past my
house,
and off into the night.
