From a hotel window

I scribbled a poem in Vegas last week..as I typed it out tonight, I hemmed and hawed about posting it here on such a public space. I don't know why I feel reservations to share my poetry but I don't feel nervous about sharing details about infertility or other intimate topics. Perhaps it's because poetry really is the most intimate of art forms. It's a window to a person's soul. At any rate, after checking out a few of my former students' blogs and reading some of their poetry, I decided to take the plunge and post the poem. I'm still playing with line breaks, and I think I might even add another stanza or two at a later time. I haven't written a poem in a long while, so it was nice to return to the genre again. 

From a hotel window

I’m watching the clouds roll over the mountains,
surrounding the peaks,
making even their outline hard to see.  

And I’m thinking of what it would be like
to be on those mountains now.
Would the clouds wrap around me
like my mother’s arms?
Or would they just linger overhead
like our fears sometimes do?

I’d want to try and grasp the grayness,
or perhaps I’d stick out my tongue
to catch a sliver and see what gray tastes like.
I’m certain it would taste sweet at first, but
subtle, like an old movie.
Then the gray would burn as it slid down my throat
because, as calming as the color gray is,
there’s a sting to it that reminds me of
loves forgotten.

If I were on that mountaintop now
surrounded by those clouds,
I would most definitely hold my arms out
in surrender
welcoming whatever sensation
those gray clouds may bring.