I took a little break from copyediting today to glance back through my journal for something to post. This is from early April, using a prompt I signed up to receive via e-mail during National Poetry Month.
Outside
yet again she had been
weighed in the scales of friendship and found
wanting, though she did not
know why, she felt certain
there had been cues, unreadable to her
misfit understanding, arcane signals
she did not receive
correctly, so once more she stood
apart, watched the turning
rope and tried to decipher
how the others knew when
to jump in
The Daily Compost 
Sometimes I feel like I don’t know when to jump. Great poem, Jennifer. Blessings to you…
Thank you, Carol Ann! I’m happy the poem spoke to you. Blessings to you as well. 🙂
I like the feeling conveyed of entering the mind of a child who doesn’t quite understand how to play jump rope with the other kids. And in my own misfit understanding it took me awhile to realize what the turning rope signified. You see, I was at the same time watching a documentary about Mark Twain and a scene showing a lynching, which rightly shocked and appalled him. But I was sure no one else would want to jump in.
What a dreadful juxtaposition! Kind of adds a whole new (morbid, grotesque, horrifying) layer to the poem. Yikes!
I understand those feelings from when I was a kid, for sure!
Yeah, I never could get the hang of that communal jump rope thing. I had a hard enough time when I was jumping by myself! :-}
I am uncoordinated enough by myself haha!
Bittersweet yet so lovely. You convey the feeling of this almost frantic desperation to understand some unsaid, unknown secret so well. Wonderful job. 🙂
Thank you! I still experience this as an adult from time to time, and it never fails to call to mind that playground image.