I write in the mornings because that is when I feel the most energetic and creative. As to why I write poems, I’d say it’s because I love language and playing with words, and because when I’m writing a poem, nothing else intrudes on this creative space. And every poem I write is a kind of love song to this gorgeous world we live in and the miracle of being alive. Also, within the universe of a poem, anything can happen. I can go back to my childhood and engage with people I love so much who are gone and bring them back to “life” for the length of a poem. And in so doing, or in writing about any subject, really, I hope to connect with readers in such a way that they are moved to remember and reflect on their own lives and experiences. As to what inspires me, I’d say there is no limit to it! I’m inspired by everything. And I don’t see writing poems as just a profession or as some folks might imagine, a “hobby.” To me, writing poetry is a vocation, and having poems published is still, after twenty years in the poetry “business,” a huge thrill!
Summer Rain
In loving memory of Tom Kirby (1934 – 2019),
Loretta Kirby (1937 – 2019), Tommy Kirby
(1959 – 1980), and Blanche Kirby (1903 – 1980)
On rainy days at the beach, my brother
and I played under a house lifted high off
the ground on multiple stilts. No matter
that it was only ours for a week, it felt
like home because our family was in it.
We could hear our parents’ voices through
the weathered boards, their footsteps on
the sand-scattered floor, our grandmother
clearing her throat or turning on the tap.
Sifting through the damp sand with our
plastic shovels, we would find bits and
pieces of broken shells and detritus from
tenants who stayed there before us. And
all the while, the sea pounded like a heart
against the shore’s soft fabric, though we
could not see it for the dunes. And rain
came down in gentle waves on roofs and
rickety walkways that led, as far as we
were concerned, to heaven. But it was
alright for us to miss a morning here and
there on the beach—or a gray afternoon
when showers came and went or stayed
a while so we could cool our sunburned
skin, let our eyes rest from the glare of
sunny days that seemed to last a hundred
years. Now time flows faster than an in-
coming tide as I dig for words to describe
how happy we were while listening to the
summer rain and our parents’ laughter—
the sun just waiting for its chance to shine.
Terri Kirby Erickson is the author of eight full-length collections of poetry, including her newest book, The Light That Follows Us Home, (Fall, Press 53). Her poems have appeared in “American Life in Poetry,” Poetry Foundation, Rattle, The SUN, The Writer’s Almanac, and many other publications, and has won numerous awards, including the Joy Harjo Poetry Prize, Nautilus Silver Book Award, International Book Award for Poetry, Annals of Internal Medicine Poetry Prize, Tennessee Williams Poetry Prize, and many others. For more information about her work, please visit www.terrikirbyerickson.com
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