I managed 28/30 poems for April. I didn’t write a poem everyday; some days I wrote 6 to catch up. I shared the first 8 on my social media, towards the beginning of the month, but mostly kept them to myself.
I’ll share a few more, here. These are poems I wrote by hand, and then typed. I didn’t revise, beyond maybe changing a word here or there. Some, I may come back to again, but I’m not sure.
I started the month with a list of prompts I generated myself, intending to use NaPoWriMO to generate text for my memoir with the lens of the new genre to help me see things fresh. I used some of the prompts, and skipped others when new ones came to me as I wrote.
This is the list I started with:
I’ll share some of the poems here over the next weeks, beginning with the first 4 I posted on social media.
1/30 Birthdays
Soggy notebooks and sleeping mat greet
sunrise over red rocks on my birthday morning.
Rain, too swift for my badly-pitched tent,
leaked down the sides.
Breaking camp, fog slipped down and around and
the yip-yip of lone coyote broke into a chorus
Ecstatic echoes, chaotic joy, declaring,
“I am here! You are here!”
Chaotic ecstasy, a birthday gift
as I loaded my car, alone, on my way
to meet myself
On my way to a place only my body
remembered.
On my way to find one more part
of my story…
On my way to rewrite lack into abundance
To rewrite guilt into gratitude
To rewrite empty into full.
Rain poured from gray clouds after
I read to her name plate,
a stone, set in green-carpeted field,
in line with so many others.
Rain poured as I drove the miles
to full moon over desert,
to clear cold sky
and coyotes yipped their joy of
“I am here! I am here!”
2/30 Riding a Bike
It’s just like riding a bike
that clichéd phrase,
supposed to mean something
is easy, that you never forget
how to balance, pedal, and turn
braking without flying over handlebars.
I never quite learned, though,
so “just like riding a bike”
Instead of signaling simplicity
is just another skill
just another experience
I can’t quite manage when
everyone around me balances with ease
And I walk, keeping my own pace
always just a little too late
always just a little behind.
3/30 Haircuts
In praise of the hum and vibration of clippers
The smooth slide of plastic guard against my scalp
Sliding through tufts that fall away, feather-light,
Onto bare shoulders.
Each sweep of razor clears a swathe
Each gesture defines every person who said
“You should grow your hair, you would be
so beautiful with long hair.”
Each swathe lightens my spirit, revealing in the mirror,
A person, unburdened by others expectations.
4/30 Going Fishing
Slosh slurp of water on rocks on the lake shore
Ripples of dark water, brown, black, gray rocks
Showing through the clear liquid.
Further out, the scrying glass reflects back
Trees, mountain peak, and blue sky
The small ball of white and red plastic
Bobs under the water and the end of my line
Pops back, then disappears.
The line tugs and, heart in throat, I turn the handle
Reeling in the line, facing resistance.
Daddy snatched the pole, reeling in the fish
Saltwater dripped into fresh
as I watched the fish thrash,
become still in my father’s grasp.
He walked away, back to my brothers.
With a flash of fin and scale, the fish disappeared
Into the clear water when I tipped the bucket over.
The darkness swallowed the slim body as it moved
further from the shore.
Ink and Vein 