Having a great time here in post-modern poetry. We’ve been on the island since Sylvia Plath croaked in ’63. It’s been a bit smoggy, incoherent and gratuitously cryptic, but the prison-guards are super-nice and they let us write Haiku once in a while. There’s this MFA creative-writing place just up the road from the gulag, it’s really charming. They publish a chapbook that 4 people on the island read. They also host workshops, like How to Find Your Authentic Voice and Pushing Language Beyond the Boundaries. Last night we saw some non-identity-politics-driven verse in the nearby wilderness reserve. It had beautiful plumage and made totally weird sounds. (Hey Dylan, you’re remembering to feed my muse, right? Don’t let her out after 5 since she might stay out all night. She does NOT like the free-verse abstract work. Feed her the structured message-oriented stuff to the right of the editorial literary-elite. Thanks ☺ ) Anyway, we’re trapped on this island so if you find someway to get us off, do your best. PLEEZ tell the editorial prison-guards that we are working on our English Lit MA degrees. P.S: send the Maya Angelou and Adrienne Rich books soon !!!!! Love, Rita Dove’s Bookshelf
PROMPT: draft a prose poem in the form/style of a postcard