It’s always good to get past the halfway point in the month. The end is near, and yet, I know the poems must keep coming. Some days I surprise myself–like the rhyme in Day 17. Other days, I go back to the photographs I have stored in my poetic memory. Several poems this week seemed to run out of my mind onto the page. Thank goodness I keep pen and pad in the car and in my purse, and sticky notes on my office desk when the words start to form. Often it feels like clouds gathering above on the verge of a downpour. Here is what the poem storms brought this week.
Day 14 (Prompt: If I Were <Blank>)
I’d still be black
but this time
Day 15 (Prompt: Love/Anti-Love)
The heat of your breath
warms my skin and every
feign, flutter, fantasy stands
arm hair on end.
Day 16 (Prompt: Elegy)
On a throwback Thursday, I see a photo
of you dressed in 70’s cool–wide-legged
jeans and Kojak shades–standing in a park
with a stoic lean like that tower in Piza.
Day 17 (Prompt: Pop culture)
You’ll never see me move it round, wave
my big round mound fast, slow, up
and down like a flag to raise your salute.
Day 18 (Prompt: Weather)
The freeze will come overnight,
trap you below the thick,
clear surface for the longest
winter on record
Day 19 (Prompt: Color)
I inhale the sweet
sting of citrus
then strip skin
in one long peel.
Day 20 (Prompt: Family)
It was my father’s foresight
to insist on a family photo,
the photographer’s instinct
to seat him at center