Stoney Moss

dabble and whatnot, mostly poetry

April 30

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.

Share

2 Comments

  1. Dropping by for the first time after an extended blogtrotting break, and glad to see your exquisite offerings as always… congrats on getting through the poetic month! Now for the next one, and the one after that, and so on. :)

    • And so on, yes! Thanks for the atta-gals, Joseph, and congrats to you on your amazing creative output. I could barely muster up what I did and you just when crazy. In a good way!