This morning, I played catch-up, and finished the two incomplete poems for the poem-a-day challenge.  Today’s prompt is to write about a mistake, which is also a writing prompt that I have given my students today, with some great philosophical success–I wrote along with them, and this poem has emerged.

Red ink rains blood
upon the white page.
A slash, a laceration,
opening the wounded sentence
like a scalpel:
scribble, cut, and blot.
Ink on my fingers.

You should know there is
no glee in this.

My ink will run green
across the furrowed page,
teasing growth from the tender rows
of font upon the white field.
Nurture and cultivate,
seeds of new knowledge
sprouting from the even lines.
Your thoughts given form
and reaching for the sun.


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