My 30/30 time is winding down. Six more poems after this one. I was hoping to go out with a bang, but the way this week is shaping up and the way I've been writing my daily poems at the end of the day (out of necessity) as opposed to the morning or the night before has been slowly killing me (softly. Two times, two times.) So...this whole thing will probably end with more a "woo...." as a opposed to a "WOO HOO!!!!" But, hey. I WILL WRITE SIX MORE POEMS.
So, today's poem WAS written on April 24th at least by Seattle-time. But I just sent it off so, ya'll won't see it until the 25th. And so and so forth, probably, for the rest of the week. Since it'll be posted tomorrow, here is a snippet of it to pique your interest (hopefully):
The air tonight is full of matchsticks.
Tricks of the eye
searching for rough surface.
I walk from brick walls
through the dark cul-de-sac
to find the creek behind the house,
overrun by cattails.
The cattails are matchsticks become torches:
my bait for enormous catfish and carp.
I don't really know where this came from. I was thinking of my Lola's house and how there was a creek behind it where I used to play; when we moved to Tennessee, we'd go back to visit Michigan and the creek was less and less visible and more and more covered by cattails. I loved pulling them apart. I also loved pretending they were wands. And the carp and the catfish...well, I doubt there were any of the big ones I imagined for this poem in that little creek; I don't really know where they came from. I think they are cool looking. They are weird and look like old men. Old men fish sages.
It's been a long day.