Monday, April 30, 2018

Day 30: I write stuff

I write seeds into germination
I write blowhards into consternation
I write the crush of modern flight
I write the drink that does bite
I write the music that swells
I write the glove that compels

I write the city I love
I write memory dreamed of
I write words into trees
I write snow up to your knees
I write the life of a man
I write wandering with a plan

I write my sister's strife
I write a slow cumbria of life
I write dawn's mandate
I write violence and hate
I write watching confusion
I write gooselike delusion

I write drowning in fright
I write darkness into light
I write how sense transcends
I write how much depends
I write familial reality
I write she who made me

I write five and twenty
I write love lost aplenty
I write the universe outright
I write a small boy's blight
I write phrases and fluff
I write stuff

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Day 29: phrases heard from three television announcers while watching the final three minutes of a basketball game

Costly turnover there
Don't tell me you want to win, show me
Willing to get his jersey dirty
Straight and true at the free throw line
I see what you did there
That rattles home
Fought tooth and nail all series long
If they are fortunate enough to succeed
If you want to move on, you're going to have to be better
This is how you say 'put me in coach'
Its a difference-maker
There was a lot of contact all over the place
They're coming alive here in the second half
Strong side cover, weak side cover: it doesn't matter
There goes that man
We have to have discussion
I just don't think they are that good
Matching up against an iconic player
Forget about it coach, I was healthy and read and you didn't play me
But he steped up
And its on to the second round
The kind of respect you expect from this hard fought

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Day 28: Reverence

When my mother made me go to church
They called sitting still "being reverent."
"Be reverent!" snapped the lady with big
Hair big glasses and big pattern on her shiny

"Be reverent, children!" she said again,
Adding children to the command as if
We didn't know we were children and
She was the adult who was allowed to

"Be reverent!" and the children around
Me folded their arms across their chest
Wiggling their hips in their all too tiny
Seats. But I didn't, since I didn't know

"What do we do when we show reverence,
Children?" big lady asked glaring at me
"We fold our arms and sit still!" children
Yelled their response, all turning to look at

Now that the eyes of God or Jesus or
Just the entire Primary class were glaring
at me, I folded my arms and bowed my
Head, not realizing that is what you do to

Friday, April 27, 2018

Day 27: April 27

On this day in four thousand, nine hundred and seventy seven
The universe was, according to astronomer Johannes Kepler,
Created. Kepler, considered one of the founders of modern
Science, is well-known for his theories of planetary motion
Which he built intricate models for: nesting planet after planet
In wood-framed paper orbital shells, only to have the whole
Thing collapse in front of him when the observational data
Did not correlate with the math. It was then that he willingly
Abandoned the model of perfect spherical orbits, nested one
Within another, and realized the imperfect orbital ellipse
Where celestial bodies no longer moved in perfection, but
Wobbled their imperfect courses through the black ether
It is, perhaps, to the consternation of modern scientists
That he never gave up his theory of when the universe was
Created, but does whether it is five thousand or thirteen
Billion really make that much of a difference on sunny April

Thursday, April 26, 2018

Day 26: Desert Driving

She'd driven that road more than a hundred times
But each time she drove it, there were always subtle
Differences in how the light played over the bastion
Cliffs, banded white then black then rust red then
Mottled tan.  The cliffs stood in a line--one--two--
Three, like soldiers on parade, the canyons between
Their buttes, the slight divide between the soliders'

She'd driven that road more than a hundred times
But each time she noticed something different
In the blur of sage and yucca and peyote that
Her car rushed by in a hissing roar. In early 
Spring the cactus would bloom, followed by 
The yellow sage, and then finally late in summer
The rubber rabbit bush would boldly thrust their
Yellow fronds into the hot afternoon air, swaying

She'd driven that road more than a hundred times
But each time she felt the same, empty longing
Of always coming and then going, of visiting
And then leaving, of loving, and fearing, and 
Wondering. But that was the nature of their life
Together:  not together. It was always left leaving
That longing, that loathing, that loving that desert

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Day 25: Twenty-five

What an odd number, twenty-five
Is it one word like fifteen
Or is it conjoined with a
Hyphen?  Does it have nothing but
Blank space?

Is twenty-five some sort of
Double baker's dozen, or do you
Have to double every single donut--
Every cookie--and that would hand you

Twenty-five is one more hour
Than a day. It is the time when
Witches creep out of the dark
Corners to conjure fiends from

A shave and a haircut used
To cost twenty-five cents or
Two bits.  You could not buy
A shave for Just a single bit,

And of course, twenty-five is held
Sacred by greedy children who
Lay awake all night, waiting for
The time when parents let them

Twenty-five is when you
First really feel old. It is the age
When you are should be done:
Baked and frosted and put on

Cast your spells in twenty-five words
And you will summon the spirit of a
Sweet confection glazed and worthy
Of both childhood and adulthood

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Day 24: Mom

Now that I think about it, I've never written about you
Directly. I've written about you indirectly; you in the
Background of the words, out of focus and blurred
Like an extra in a crowd scene. The cameraman never
Pulls focus on your face, although your presence is

My film goes nowhere without you, even though you
Were cut from the production almost twenty years ago
But you are like some unfocused Shakepearean ghost
Always showing up when you least need a ghost,
But seemingly always at the right time to move the plot

Monday, April 23, 2018

Day 23: Family

Gazing across the ocean, my third great grandfather
Accounted for his time on board the great ship
Reckoning the life and land passing away from him in
Days and nights, nights and days, storm and calm
Never to see the cold land that so mistreated him
Ever again. Leaving it all behind in a foggy haze of

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Day 22: After WCW

So much depends upon
Those damn white chickens
Stupidly running around in the

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Day 21: sitting under a tree

tge blind okd mn sits
imder the buddimg willoe
contemolatomg birds

(typed with left hand, eyes closed)

Friday, April 20, 2018

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Day 19: Swimming

I was always embarrassed that I
Can not swim. I have always
Been embarrassed that I cannot
Swim. I will always be embarrassed
That I cannot swim.  Even
Now when I admit this on
Paper here, with watery blue
Ink, I am embarrassed that I cannot

It is not, of course, that
I have not tried to swim.
It is not, of course, that
I was not forced to swim.
It is not, of course, that I
Will still keep trying to swim.
I will continue to try
Like I did while at pool's edge,
Waiting to take my lap in
Gym, diving in, feeling water
Split under me, feeling
Myself sinking, dropping,
Falling out of the Air

I did not hear Coach
Jump in after me, but
I know it is him when
I feel his arm cricle
Around my chest pulling
Me up and then across the
Pool to the edge where
The water laps.  I grab
Tight onto the trough
Between the edge and
The deep

"Why didn't you say you
Couldn't swim?" he asks
Panting.  I, feeling chlorine
Sting my eyes, look down
At the shimmering water,
Shifting my weight, and say

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Day 18: The Goose

The bird brain works differently than
Other animals, that is for certain
I once watched a flock of geese fascinated
By shiny tin foil carelessly thrown by
The wayside. They pecked and poked,
Poked and pecked, until nothing of it

I wanted to grab them by the neck and
Ask why they would eat tinfoil; why
It so transfixed their bird immagination
To wish to obliterate its existence but
The bird brain works differently than
Ours, and if I did try to grab one by
Its sinuous neck, it would hiss and slap
Me hard with its beclawed wing, until
It could break loose and then attack
My ass with its sharp, betoothed

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Day 17: The Philosopher

Aristotle said
"One cannot say
 of something that it is
 and that it is not
 in the same respect
 and at the same time."
Or he said
"It is impossible that
 the same thing belong
 and not belong
 to the same thing
 at the same time
 and in the same respect."
Or he said
 "No one can believe
 that the same thing
 can (at the same time)
 be and not be."
Or he said
 "The most certain
 of all basic principles
 is that contradictory
propositions are not
true simultaneously."
Or he said
Those birds just spring
Out of the mud, their
Vegetative soul

While these in and of
Themselves are not
Against the speaking
Of which you forbid &
Forfend yourself, they
Hold three truths, or
Three falsehoods, de-
Pendant on the hanging
Of the fruit from the
Tree just before it drops
to the ground and you
Will never see it float

It cannot float up since
It cannot go against
The internal love the
Apple has for the ground
Which loves it more
Than a feather which
Floats slower to the
Earth, because air loves
It more

Metaphysics is physics
To the Philosopher
Every action has & does
Not have an opposite

Monday, April 16, 2018

Day 16: Capital Crimes

Missing the bus
And asking for help
When your are lost
Are capital crimes
For young black

Playing with a toy
Gun in a park is
A capital crime
For young black 

Walking in your 
Neighborhood at 
Night is a capital
Crime for young black

Flirting with a 
White woman is
A capital crime
For young black

Brennan Walker (2004- ), fourteen
Tamir Rice (2002-2014), twelve
Trayvon Martin (1995-2012), seventeen
Emmett Till (1941-1955), fourteen

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Day 15: Tanka on the Dawn

The morning fog breaks
Over crowns of budding trees.
Silence hovers near
Making your ears ring with stark
Expectation of the dawn.

Day 14: Weightless

For five hundred million years they have
Fluttered their slow dance in warm waters
Circling each other in blind pirouettes
Light catching their tendril appendages

While the land lay sharp and barren in the
Burning ultraviolet, they performed their
Gentle cumbia, starting with the right
And then going back, then left in place
Coming together now repeat on the left
And back

For millions of years the dance spun on
And on, never changing, never growing
Always repeating on the left and back
While the world grew on and the land
Became lush and green and sweet flowers
Spread across the black sand voids, rock
Broken by fibrous roots, drawing life
From stone

And their dance carries on to the roiling
Undulant rhythm of blue green waves
One after another after another after the

Friday, April 13, 2018

Day 13: Friday the Thirteenth or Old Archie

My second great grandfather's ghost was said to haunt
Our town's old elementary school. All the first graders knew
About Old Archie. He was a tall, bleak figure who would
Appear early in the morning while the children were still
Sleepy from bed, and stand, ominously at the end of the
Hall, by the stairs, where he would be just glimpsed out
Of the corner of seven-year-old eyes.  It was only the
First graders who ever saw him, but all the other graders
Particularly the second graders always told first graders
About him.

Their tales of Old Archie were embellished with as much
Gore as they could think of and how the tall and lanky
Figure would capture children and, quite literally, scare
Them to death.   Old Archie was angry and evil, you see
A man tormented by children, it seems, a man who must
Have done something vile in his life, something horribly

You can imagine, then, when my sister started school
That hearing her second great grandfather was a fiend
Was a bit disturbing. She, apparently, came home crying
The first day, and my mother couldn't get anything out
Of her. And being that my mother was a woman of her
Time and would hardly be one to initiate contact with
The school, my sister's turmoil over our fiendish ancestor
Lay quiet within her until she told me about it years later.
They had torn the school down by then, and I had never
Attended it, and my sister and I laughed about grusome
Old Archie, the fiendish miller who had built the town
And built the school, and had lived an enjoyable life
With his eleven wives and dozens of children. We had
Thought those unusual facts of his life would have been
Interesting enough, but no, no, no, a ghost is always more

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Day 12: somewhere I have never traveled gladly beyond

I've worked here for thirty years
And so I'm going to find some
Place on campus that I've never
Been with my notepad in hand
To write out what transpires in
My brain if I find such a new

As I set out from my office, I am
Doubtful I will find it, that rare
New thing in a place where I've
Been for so many years so many
Days so many hours, you get the

I speak to a colleague who is
Obviously having a rough day--
I can see it in the way her eyes
Are squinted, in how her mouth
Shapes words before she says them
I ask her if there might be some
Place I've never seen or been or
Experienced, and she lists off a
Variety of spaces I have been and
Seen and experienced.  "What
About the former geocache?"
She says, sweeping her hand
Over her brow.  "It is by where
The old Admin Building was."
"Where?" I say, slightly excited
For newness.  "Down in that
Sunken patio by the Construciton

I had no idea about this geocache
But I have certainly been to that
Patio, but it seems this is it this is
The new. "X marks the spot," she
Continues.  "It was behind two big
Steel beams, but someone took
It."  "Maybe I will find it!" and I
Head east, the great expanse
Of east campus that was so near
The cinderblock old building where
I worked for about twenty five
Of these long years, upstairs in
A hot office with a narrow window
Looking out on gravel and cooing

There are two buildings between here
And there. Booth much the same:
Atlas brick behemouths with few
Doors and fewer windows because
Windows were anathema to learning
In the seventies and eighties, it seems
Both surrounded by grass, one with
Grass and trees.  We don't need trees
I can hear the planner for the other
Even more sterile building say.  But
That's not quite true, because there are
Trees on the other side where the
Former geocache no longer resides
Honey locust that bloom green but
With wafting perfume in early June
As I round the corner to where the
Hidden patio is, I pass a patch of
Green that once was our community
Garden.  It, like the geocache is no

Down the steps, I'm in the sunken
Space.  Office windows on one side
With blinds all shut tight, save one
And its blinds are in tatters across
The window.  The brick is puddled
With the rain we've had off and on
All day, and in the black-earth beds
Huddled up to the just sprouting
Honey locust are tulips, daffodils,
Hyacinths.  I've never noticed the
Flowers before, nor the raspberry
Canes just coming into bloom, nor
The shock of yellow from grape

And there is the X, against the far
Wall where the elevated pathway to
The main floor of the building lofts
I suppose it is meant to hold up the
Walkway, to keep the concrete from
Toppling down, but I'm unsure how
It works, as the crossed steel beams
Are against the concrete abutment.
I walk over to it, reaching my hand
Out, and caress the scratchy, rusted

I reach behind it, where the geocache--
A plastic bottle secreted behind containing
A roll a paper and a pencil for scribling
One's name--is not, and it is not and
Has not been for a year or two my
Colleague who has obviously been
Having a rough say told me.
Feel down along the empty space,
Thinking it may have slipped
But there is no where to slip.  No place
To hide.

So I step back, moving to the edge of
The space and take it all in.  The place
Is not new, but the daffodils are new
And the tulips are new, and the hyacinths
Are new.  The puddles of rain water are
New, and the just sprouting honey locust
Are new, even they have been here even
Longer than I have, they are new and the
Words are new that I'm unscrambling in my

Before I leave, I pick a daffodil for my
Colleague who is obviously having a rough
Day and when I get back to my building,
I stick it to her nameplate on her office

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Day 11: The Guy With a Sign on the Corner

My sister was the first person to throw me out.
Mom had died a couple of years before from
Breast Cancer and my dad, well my dad was
Never much use my grandma used to say
And he left us to go back east for work when
I just turned two. We never heard of him again.
My mom tried to find him once, but the trail
Went cold in Wyoming. We figured he might
Have died. There was a lot of oil riggers in
Rock Springs in the 70s and you know how
Riggers are. She got one check from there
And then nothing. Zip.  Nada. So yeah,
Who knows.

Mom had a lot of different jobs and a few
Different boyfriends, but my home town is
Pretty small and everybody knows everybody
Else, you know what I mean, and it was hard
For her to get by or get men or whatever you
Know how it is, right?  But we got by ok but
Not rich or nothing, but not so poor I was
Starving.  It was just not easy because every
Body looked down on us and they all thought
Dad ran of and left my mom and of course it
Was probably her fault, you know how little
Towns are.

So, anyway, my sister was the first person to
Throw me out, like I said.  Mom was dead and
I was fourteen and got into partying, you know
And my sister said "you cut that shit out or
get out of my house."  Yeah right, like it was
Her house.  Just as much my house as hers
But of course she was 19 and legally, legally
It was her house, I guess.  I don't know I
Should go back and find out, but fuck that
Shit.  I'm never going back to that piece of
Crap town.  Well maybe I might when my
Sister kicks the bucket, but fuck, you know
Fuck it.

So when my sister threw me out I just headed
North to Salt Lake.  I didn't know fucking any
One, but whatever.  It was a hell of a lot better
Than down there.  Hell of a lot better.  I met
A bunch of other kids, we used to hang out
At Crossroads.  Remember Crossroads?  Shit.
We used to hang out there and they'd play like
Classical music to drive us kids away. Hilarious.
Some kids used to sell drugs and score tricks,
But I never did that shit, never. Well I did drugs,
Yeah, but never sold, and I'm not a whore but
I just shoplifted and stole shit. Well there was
That one time, but nah, I don't want to talk
About that.

So yeah, I've been doing this for fucking near
Forty freaking years now. Not constant, mind you,
Sometimes I get jobs. Sometimes I make enough
To get a place with a couple of other people
Or we just go squat.  I like working jobs though,
But jobs don't always like me, if you know what
I mean.  I mean, I do ok out here. There are enough
Folks who will still drop change and I sometimes
Get a fiver. Hey listen, I got to get back over to
My buddy's place.  He needs me to do something
For him, you know what I mean, so see you

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Day 10: Ghazal of Snow in April

Until you see the plum trees drooping pink
You can not believe it would snow in

Or until you hear the crack of a branch breaking
You will not believe it could snow in

But certainly, when the pink petals mix with white flakes
You suddenly believe that it should snow in

The petals and the flakes settle over the fallen branch
You believe you should not see such good snow in

So you stand before another tree, waiting and watching
You wish the tree harm, but it withstood snow in

The tree is unharmed, but you suddenly find that
You have a mean spirit that misunderstood snow in

Monday, April 09, 2018

Day 9: tooth, tree, went, ichor, cork, trample

What they called a tree stood alone among the sage and rabbit bush
Saddled between two cliff faces, like a single, jagged tooth in a
Derelict's smile. A pair of ravens went too and fro between the cliff
Tops and the rounded, cloudy top of the cedar. Below, the local 
Heard of cows would trample the sage and rabbit bush, blooming
Amber yellow against the cork-white soil.  Where the cows have licked
The peeling bark for its salt, a fetid ichor flows dark red, down the

What they called a 
Tree, scale leaves 
Tipped with immature
 Cones puffed green against
The sky

Sunday, April 08, 2018

Day 8: The Pen

I hold the pen in my hand like you would hold a knife
A blank tablet lays on the seat of the chair I stand at
I hear her across the kitchen, clanging a pot from the cupboard
I stab at the tablet, and draw curlicues of what I think
Are letters, but they are not letters and I am frustrated
So I start to cry and throw the pen at the paper, it glances
Off and skids across through the kitchen doorway to her

"What's wrong?" she says, bending to pick up the pen 
And I run to her, grabbing her legs, still wailing
In my memory my dialogue with my mother is clear
And concise, but I'm sure I was not as eloquent as 
I think I was, but I ask her when I will be able to write.
"When you go to school," she said patting caressing 
My head.  Then the memory fades into blue winter

Saturday, April 07, 2018

Day 7: Salt Lake City

A nice little hike up by Red Butte through
Scrub oak only found here in the Wasatch
You reach a place to rest the locals named
The Living Room because they arranged
The slabs of rock into couches, loungers,
And chairs. You can sit in the Living Room
The city splayed out below for your

To the west where the lake still licks against
The salty mud flats, a stream of planes
Rise and fall, fall and rise in controlled
Chaos.  Your eye, caught by a glinting flash
Of reflected sun from a car on I-80 follows
The road in to the center of town where
Skyscrapers, toylike, like some miniature
Village, cluster at the bottom of the hill
From the black-copper-domed state capitol

You look in vain to spot your own house,
Squinting at the cluster of buildings that
Should be where it is, but you are unsure and
Uncertain if that really is your tiny dot of
A house.  But it has to be somewhere there
The big roads you can identify easily and
It just has to be right there.  Your interior
Map making is disrupted by the cold nuzzle
Of a dog who wants to be friends by snuffling
Your neck and then snorting. "Rupert!" A
Woman shouts and you stand up quickly,
Petting Rupert on the head.  He is a big,
Rusty setter with a lazy eye.  "It's all right,"
You say petting him again.  "It's all right,
I need to get going anyway."  You smile
And leaving Rupert and his human, you

Friday, April 06, 2018

Day 6: Work Gloves

My father's gloves were worn in with grease,
Tan pig skin blackened with work on the farm
Their certain smell of fresh cut alfalfa, acrid
With sweat and oil and petroleum distillates
There was a developing hole in the crotch of
Leather between the thumb and the index finger
From grabbing bales by the twine and flinging
Them hard to the cows who waited impatiently
At trough, bellowing and slapping their necks
Against the broad haunches of their sisters to
Gain the best stall, and maybe get a pat on the
Head from my father's gloved hand, blackened
By work

After my father died, all those years ago, I put on
His gloves. They had stiffened with time passed
And the sweet smell of hay had long since faded
But the leather was still black with his work
The developing hole still worn in the webbing
My hands were loose in the shell of his hands
So much smaller, like a child's hands cupped in his

Thursday, April 05, 2018

Day 5: It Follows

When the music swelled out of his cheap laptop speakers,
He felt the expected tug of memory of spy movies about
The KGB and Mi6, of an age where political ambiguity
Ran free

While he counted himself a bit of a connoisseur of music--
He was almost a music major in college, after all--
He still could not break the habit of only thinking of music
In terms of mood and evocation, of emotion emoting and

He really should be thinking about music, reasoning with
It, exploring the complexity of patterns, the mathematical
Interactions--the calculus of chords--the trigonometry of 
Tonal shape

Yet all he could think of was a spy, leaning against a building
Snow ticking across his face while he waited for night to 

Wednesday, April 04, 2018

Day 4: Beer

Keats wrote about wine and bubbles "winking at the rim"
Screw that, I'm going to write about beer.  Beer. That's right

No "beakers of the warm south" of the "blushful Hippocrene"
Just light pale yellow piss water 3.2 beer that is mocked for
Its aluminum-canned goodness, and jeered at as pedestrian for

No, no, I shall sing of shit beer--loudly and drink three more
Without even winking at the rim, sharp silver cutting my lip
I might even believe I hear a nightingale after six, and I'm sure
That I know the answers to everything and that I am the best

And it is all the same, because like Keats, I'll be drunk then
And no matter how much you fancy up being drunk with
References to Bacchus and his pards or viewless wings of
Poetry cluster'd around by Fays like some fucking bad
Victorian tableaux, you are still drunk, and it is called "passing

I'll fade then into the tender arms of day drunk solemnity
On my puke green polyester couch, embalmed in darkness
Because I have closed the goddamned curtains to keep out
The daylight.  Yeah, Keats, guzzle down that wine, but
You better drink a shit-ton of water before you hit the sack
Otherwise you are in a world of hurt when you ask if you wake
Or sleep

Tuesday, April 03, 2018

Day 3: Cabin Experience

For a split second when you were checking in,
You thought you had fooled the machine and
It was going to let you upgrade to first class
But no, when you clicked seat 1A the screen
Darkened, and a red frame box popped up over
The map of first class seats, so spacious in their

"This cabin experience is not available to you"
For a moment you are sad that it didn't even
Say "sorry," but then were happy that it didn't
Mock your bank balance, or note how sore
Your knees would be by the end of the flight
"This cabin experience is not available to you"
You click the box closed, and go back to

The person in front of you is the kind of person
Who makes the most of their lot in life and
Leans back into you.  You are not the kind of
Person that makes the most of your lot in
Life, but you struggle to not push that little
Silver disk which is currently gouging your

But hey, you have a window seat, at least there
Is that, and you can watch the country roll away
Under you, nothing but fifty thousand feet of
Emptiness between you and the yellow tan hardness
Green circle upon circles sprinklered across the

The farmers must be wizards to pull green from
Such ochre madness. You imagine them standing
Before their blood drenched altar, offering the
Fatted calf to Baal that he might send the rains
Lord of Rain and Dew, hear our prayer!  Hear, O

"Excuse me," the kind old lady crammed in next
To you says touching your arm.  "Excuse me," and
You expect her to add "young man," but she doesn't
"Excuse me, would you mind closing your blind?
I can't see my screen." And you are the kind of person
Who doesn't make a fuss, who respects his elders
That are probably just five years older than you
And you close your blind, closing out the Lord of
Rain and Dew.

Monday, April 02, 2018

Day 2: Last Frost

"Remember that one year you planted out
Too soon? Those tomatoes you spent three months
Coddling just curled up black against the black

You should really know better than trying
That again mister, such a shame to waste
Springtime hope like that if you know what I

You don't?  Well don't go planting your toma-
Toes when it is just April. You never know
When we'll get snow around here. Frost hits us

The neighbor leans on his shovel harder
Emphasizing words with his hand cupped on
The handle top. You hate him since he is

And planting out now will lead to certain
Doom, but, there is always a chance that wave
Of warm hope on the Pacific will not

And you will be two weeks ahead of this
Shovel-leaning buffoon who scoffs at your
Temerity to push the bounds of last

"Write a poem about failure, or about a time you failed."

Sunday, April 01, 2018

Day 1: Cotyledon

You furrow soil
With your hands
Building shallow
Mounds to dent in
The seeds

When the earth warms
They loosen and split
Swallowing the rain
Quietly in the loamy

Even the hardest shell
Will crack under the 
Embryonic pressue
Pushing to breach the 

There is love inside
Waiting in the dark
Until it is just warm
Until it is just moist

The seedling explodes
Dividing the good 
Earth, reaching upward
Outward, onward 
To light

Seed leaves, at first
Tender, but then 
Hardened like 
Butterfly wings
Splay out

They are the seed
Itself, transformed
Made manifest and
Green against the dark
Rich soil

Cotyledon, ancients
Might have called them
Cup-shaped hollow
Cupped, anything hollow
Filled up

"Write a love poem about a seemingly ordinary or mundane task.