What Changes in the Darkness

On lists and overcoming a fear of poetry

I have long been afraid of poetry. I never felt like I got it. But over the past few years I have discovered poets like Billy Collins and Pádraig Ó Tuama, but still never really felt confident enough to write poetry. But recently, a brilliant writer and mentor/coach encouraged making lists — make a list of essays you want to write, make a list of things that change in the dark. Maybe that list will become something — maybe it won’t. But the list is the point.

So I recently wrote this list/poem, in response to the prompt “What changes in the dark” — it’s odd to share it, but I love the journey this “loem” took me on (get it — list + poem = loem — I probably should workshop that.)

What Changes in the Darkness

Your first instinct is to reach out your hands

Even though you usually trip over something with your feet

Body angled forward at the waist

Feet shuffling

Fingertips feeling nothing but air

Just stop for a second

Stand still

You don’t need to stub your toe

Or bang your shin

Just wait

A second

Let your eyes do what they’re supposed to do

This isn’t like the time you went on a field trip to a cave

And they turned off the lights for just a minute

And everything was black

Black

Black

Your chest got tight

And all you could think about was the miles of rock above you

It probably wasn’t miles

But it felt like it

This

Isn’t

That

Give it a second

And you’ll begin to see

Just a little

Shapes will start to form

Nothing detailed, but enough

It’s not cave dark

It’s just regular dark

There’s light out there

Stand still

Blink a few more times

There’s the shape of the coffee table

The couch

The window

You’re surprised to see it’s not even really that dark

There’s no color

But you can make it through

Without banging your shins