Sidewalk Drafts

Every Sunday, from May to November, dozens and dozens of stalls line South Pearl Street in Denver, Colorado for the weekly farmer's market. Without fail, each tent sports a big sign explaining what they offer to draw people in.Propped up in the shade of two Honey Locust trees is something different: a little table, a little chair, and a little paper sign. Taped to the table, the paper sign is in marker: Give a prompt. Get a poem. Donate if it feels good. People stare, smile, move on. Some linger, think, chat. Others know immediately what they need and simply place their order. But inevitably, the prompts come in:Bumblebees in LoveFateCheese Letting Go A Frog Eating Ice CreamLife in Your TwentiesA Tortoise Shell Cat Named: RudeNature ? SpringPrompts come from groups, from individuals, from kids and grandparents. They come from happy people, lost people, grieving people - people who seem surprised they're asking for a poem at all. They give prompts about the future, about the past, about someone far away. Prompts about dragons and flowers and God and healing. Eventually, they select their prompt, a delivery time is set, and they walk away. Then more typing. Typically, their prompt becomes their title, and each prompt gets ten to fifteen minutes of writing - depending on how chatty the market is that day. Eventually, the 'promptee' returns and then they listen to their poem.Here is a compilation of those poems, written live and on the spot for complete strangers. More importantly, it is a testimony to the poetry we all carry with us and what happens when we share it.