I love the notion of giving several people the same raw ingredients and witnessing the variety that blooms.
Today's NaPoWriMo challenge was an opportunity for me to play that game, by starting from the same original page as the sample to create my "erasure" poem. Certainly a darker theme here (and not at all autobiographical, I hasten to add).
(As typewritten text):
remember
I grew up with them
New England born,
almost all
stone
individual histories
were never referred to
if, indeed, these were known
my great-grandfather
(planted near the doorway)
passed away,
and was spread over the countryside
by his descendants
none of my family ever called
a small boy,
it was my job
to turn the meat-chopper handle
as we ground them
to be sure
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