Poem for Poetry Thursday

Wow! Happy Poetry Thursday and Thanksgiving! So appropriate that two of my favorite days merge once a year because I am certainly thankful for both.

Next week, I will attend a Mary Oliver poetry reading. She will be talking about her book, Thirst, so I'll give you a full post on the event. In all the years I've attended poetry readings, Mary Oliver is a first. I wonder what her voice sounds like. Will she read old poems? Will she talk between poems? Will the audience be a generous one? Can't wait to find out.

And onto today's poem, it's a first draft and needs work. And I'm not sure if I'm keeping the title.

I look forward to reading your post throughout the day.



Wet Chalk


Water fills the bathtub
telling me all of your secrets.
How many chickens and stars
can you hold in one hand?

Alone in our safe place,
we rediscover that same old fear
carved on your back forever,
your song dripping from the faucet
like wet chalk.

Never ceases to amaze me how
the body forgives intrusion
and goes on about its business.
Still, there is anarchy in your land—
cells waiting to attack, the viruses
that let you walk the streets
almost happy.

My little god,
it is time for your destruction,
so let’s put the stars back,
we are finished with the world
and all of its negative space.

Some nights are like this,
so content it puts our hearts
in a forgetful stupor.