Before Birds Had Names
I remember when I didn’t plant or pull
but ate dirt. Searched out pure patties
in perfect shape, a flat prism of luscious
ephemeral and melted them on my tongue.
I remember my first all-on-my-own bird:
red-winged blackbirds clinging
to reeds in the Back Bay marsh.
Gurgling conk-a-reeeee sweet in the sun.
I remember when I slowed on the freeway
to admire swarming starlings, acrobatic
schools of avian fish shoaling in a Southern
California sky. The bean fields, long gone.
I remember when I skipped
everywhere instead of walking, when I ran
as fast as I could until pennies rested
on my tongue and my white socks browned.
* * *
I end up writing about those socks a lot. And thus brings and end to my April write-a-poem-a-day, formally. Except for Day 9, which is still a blank. It might yet happen.
Thank you to Maureen and NaPoWriMo, and all the poets out there writing and posting and not writing and not posting who inspire me.
* * *
Some folks are participating in a Couplets blog tour, coordinated by Joanne Merriam of Upper Rubber Boot Books. Angie Werren will be sharing her micro-poetry space at feathers with other poets. Sherry Chandler is also participating. Do give a read.