Thursday, April 23, 2009

Poem 23

I want you to write a poem of regret. Get creative with this one, but there should be some form of regret either expressed or hinted at (even if ever so slightly). You do NOT have to use the word "regret" in the poem, though it's fine if you do.

Cleaning Out the Pond, I Long For the Past

We are speckled in new eggs
of spring, in the fat robins on our lawn
and French books about the resurrection.

Remember the spring it didn’t rain,
when the clematis bloomed in early March
and the mailman walked to our door

in navy shorts and sunglasses, a local
rockstar arriving with offerings. No, no, you say,
I’m remembering it wrong, the clematis

was dead that year and spring
was a lesson in waiting, in wet weather
where the postman wore a plastic

poncho and brought bills instead of gifts.
In the giant pond of life, I am the waterbug
caught circling through the lilypads.

You say, The waterbug chooses to stuck.
We dip our hand in the pond and scare
the goldfish, all winter nothing and now

fingers break their ceiling’s edge.
We arrive from nowhere and change
their world. The dandelions are already blooming,

the daffodils have fallen across the path.
I am arguing that happiness was last year’s
fig tree with its thick fruit

dropping in my hands
while you say it will be the tulips
still waiting to bloom.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Always love to hear from you...and the anonymous option is open for those feeling shy.

Related Posts with Thumbnails