Tuesday, April 2, 2013

NaPoWriMo 2

I struggled today to compose a poem in the few moments I've had to think about, well, anything beyond diapers and dishes. At first, I thought I would write a poem about bowls. That could happen, but not today. I feel today's poem is dashed-off and raw, yet not raw enough to be really interesting. 

The Aches of Spring

Eyes like headlights on a wet road,
it's cold and from her window she focuses 
on a shred of mylar languishing in an elm tree and
the remains of once-noble snow banks, ashy and small and missing chunks where children have dug their fists in
She wills the bulbs to rise from their own chilly beds and wither to brown again,
the flood waters to recede, leaving behind ramen noodle wrappers and mold and wads of tissue
Wishes for the spring to dry up, lay bare the yards to dry in the summer's sun, 
to ignite the true crops
to spur on real roots

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