I took a 400-level creative writing class this semester, after some friends convinced me I should. As a novice writer, it was challenging but also rewarding. For this class we wrote short pieces, and this included some prose poetry. The secret's in the name: it's a poem that looks like a prose piece (think no line breaks, but with the lyrical imagery usually possessed by poetry). This is one of my favorites that I wrote.
Notre Dame
The heat became oppressive, so we escaped down to the river like we had ducked into the cathedral earlier. Before, our light show had been manipulated by the multicolored diamond windows set high in the walls of Notre Dame, but now the light sparkled on the Monet-blue water, reflecting and refracting just as beautifully. The cathedral had been quiet, filled with reverent whispers, and now I heard that softness in the water splashing gently against the paving stones. I smiled nervously at the Parisian natives wading in the Seine and wandered down the sloping road to join them. Like a pilgrim come to find a miracle, Notre Dame blessed me with new ears. Standing still in the cool water of the river, I closed my eyes and listened to French voices echoing off the river walls as the bells of Notre Dame echoed off the surrounding buildings, both in languages I couldn’t speak but momentarily understood.
