A freaking poem. January

Poem, in style of George Ella Lyon, as part of a Cynthia lee prompt.

I am from narcissus bulbs, beauty and stunk, placed so carefully in white stones.

I am from Velveeta and Legos, goulash and basement worlds.

I am from the first Cape built in the neighborhood, the one with no double lot. The model home, the one with the sweetest garden.

I am from the smell of geraniums,  and summer sand wet with morning dew.  

I’m from slumber parties and children’s games.

From Harriet and Margaret.

I’m from the frugal, the skilled, the teachers.

From the you are so fae and so overly dramatic.

I’m from the small unadorned white church, high on itself, and warm.

I’m from the suburbs and the rural,

From Monkey bread and baked apples, molasses cookies.

From the broken wrists of the sledding hill, the knife in the eye in the kitchen (fine)

The fragments gathered in a quilt of mine, hanging steadily on the clothesline in the back.

You can do this too, in fact the original poet wants you to.

its pretty, and i like how it hangs. I’ve been very reminiscent lately. i wrote a whole piece on the closets in my parents room this week. hm. particle board doors and all.

love you guys. get out there. do the thinking. do the thing.

lovelove,

me