Far away city
Far away city with dreams that went to sleep
About Lucinda
Lucinda Watson has worked as a teacher, a healer, a volunteer, a naturalist guide, a storyteller and a board member of a few nonprofits, sometimes all at once. Watson worked for more than 10 years at the Haas School of Business, teaching communication skills to the MBA population and recruiting business leaders to speak at Haas.
Latest Blog Posts
Explore some poems, snippets, and essays of my life.
Award
Competition. Congratulations! The judges were especially impressed with your poem “Resume.” Your work was judged to be on a world-class level in a remarkably international field. We received submissions from 13 different countries this year, a record! From Singapore to Australia, Mexico to the Russian Federation, Poetry 2026 was truly a global celebration of the art of poetry. There were over 200 entries and more than 1000 separate poems. As an International Merit Award winner, your name will appear on a page of honor in the Fall Contest Issue. You will receive a free copy of this issue. And, although…
Happy Birthday
I remember floating on a giant inflatable fluorescent blue raft with you inside me in the heat of July in August in Maryland the amniotic fluid keeping time with the waves in the pool. I was 23 years old and had never held a baby. Your nursery was ready with pale yellow walls and a spindle crib and many receiving blankets ready to receive you. Whale-like, I waited for you. I thought labor was more bearable without other humans in the room so every time someone checked, I would say not really having many pains, and so the door would…
Integration There’s a moment when a child stops playing just for her as there is “Another” watching. The play become something other than sole imaginary play and is now “observed” play. The child comes out of her unconscious and is now conscious of her presence in the world No one really remembers this moment except me, that is. I was so lost in my play at age 4 that noticing I was being observed was an electric jolt. An intruder. As if someone could see into my mind and know what I was thinking. I was no longer playing for…
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving Once, long ago, I wrote a poem on Thanksgiving about a couple who were standing on a stone wall outside their house. They were wearing matching Fair Isle sweaters with wreaths around their necks and were in their fifties. A bird swooped down and took the husband’s sweater in his mouth and flew away with him. The wife was too embarrassed to explain what had happened so she spent the rest of her life ignoring the fact that he was gone. Why am I telling you this story? I have no idea. I think I am telling the…
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