Sunday, November 7, 2021

Poem: Circuit Board Quilt

Talking about one’s thought process is always interesting. Some people process ideas by talking through them, others by quiet contemplation. Sometimes I’m a little bit of both. I’ll talk through a plot point when I’m stuck, but more often, I’ll mull it over to myself.

People often refer to me as a quiet person. I remember back in my undergrad, during my senior year, I gave a presentation to a class, and afterward my professor told me that was the most she had heard me speak during my entire time at college. Oh yeah, she was also my advisor. It surprised me because I saw my thoughts as being incredibly loud and had forgotten that I’m the only one who processes them.

I didn’t really discuss things in class, until I went on to study my masters. Now I’m a teacher, and I have quiet students who don’t want to break out of their shell. Here’s to the quiet thinkers.


Circuit Board Quilt



i can’t get it to stop

these pulses that go on

and on like a circuit board

that’s never switched off


how do all the wires work?

amazing that somebody came up with them

and could store ideas on something so small,

the accumulation of technology

built up over time



that reminds me i need to remember to make a lesson plan

and maybe eat lunch before 3pm

for a change


change—it’s easier to do the math in my head

when i’m thinking of money,

but honestly i miss european currency

where it wasn’t all quarters

and they actually had a twenty-cent piece,

and another coin for a pound or two euro


or maybe my mind

is more like a quilt

with threads intertwined

one on top of another

                        on top of another

until I can’t see the pattern

but it’s as if everything is connected

it’s been a while since i made my first and only quilt

maybe i should pick up sewing again


i’ve heard it said

that a man’s mind holds compartments,

boxes if you will,

one of which contains nothing—

the nothing box—

where they simply exist

a man’s mind, who am I kidding?

my sister says she has one, a nothing box


but in my mind,

where would all the energy go?


i’ve learned to deal

with long stretches of no activity

boredom some might call it—

i’d be lying if I didn’t agree—

but i’ve found a way to dream up stories

while sorting shelves,

listening to music and humming along,

all the while ready to shuffle the cards

mid-song to have a conversation instead


i can pick up where i left off


halfway through a stich

or maybe i’ll use my stitch remover—humility tool—

and start something altogether new




Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What’s your thought process like?

Similar posts: Do Not Dissect This Poem, Writing a Poem, and Thoughts of Place

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