I am always curious about how other people write. So here is how one poem developed for me.

I try to write each day. I sit down and sometimes there's a line or a thought that I know I want to write about. Sometimes I page through my unfinished poems notebook and choose one to work on. Other times I read from a favorite poetry anthology until something sparks a poem.

This day we had gone for a drive to pick up lunch, and I was back at home. I read some from the poetry anthology, and I loved this line by Jane Miller, from her poem "Poetry", in the anthology Gift of Tongues:
"We are being made into words even as we speak," and I write this:

I return to my room
cool dark and deep
words having
swirled around me
all day
tempting
me to reach out
to grab a few
to put together
into this poem
that is today.

I like it, but it doesn't really say anything about my day. I love the phrase, "this poem that is today." So what happened today? How can I incorporate something more specific from my day today into the poem?

I love writing about nature. Lots of neighborhood trees in my poems. I also often write about things in my head, or about things that are central to who I am. Self poems.

I try to include physical descriptions in my writing, so it's not just unattached thoughts floating around like they do in my head. Rarely, I write about people. Who could be made into words from today?

I remember a waitress from where we got lunch. I have lots of thoughts. (We were wearing masks, but you can still tell when people are smiling.)

I return
to my room
cool dark and deep
words
having swirled around
like the waitress' full skirt.
I smile at her
and hope her life
will be one of
many smiles
I hope that
she will bend her world
to suit her
instead of being bent
by the traditions and proprieties
I see filling
the space around her
those things I grasp and find words in
to make this poem
that is today.

I copy the poem, making slight changes, moving sections so they make more sense to me, scribbling alternate words off to the side. I enjoy writing by hand. I enjoy copying the poem. Sometimes I make changes, sometimes not. The copying is soothing to me.

I read the poem out loud and think about line breaks. I try to imagine a stranger reading it. Would they know what I was talking about? I don't want to offend anyone's religious traditions, but that is part of this specific poem. She isn't just any waitress, she's a teenager who is clearly part of a very specific tradition.

I don't know if the finished poem is "better" than that above, but it's where I end up and feel wanting to share with the world. I come here to post my poem, and then move the original into my finished (but not quite right) notebook. I don't think it has much to do with that original quote from Jane Miller, so I will save that for another day.

The waitress
started March 3rd, 2021

I smile at the waitress
and she smiles back
so young and unformed
being everything
that everyone around her expects.

Words swirl through the air
like her skirt does
as she turns
lace covering her hair
speaking of conventions and traditions
that look so pretty
when you don't have to live them.

I hope that her life
will be filled with
many heart-felt smiles
and that she will
bend her world to suit her
instead of being bent or broken
by all I see crowding
the space around her.

I return home
to sort through
all these dense heavy thoughts
to find the words
to make this poem
that is today.