Nurturing a Poem

 

I plant a thought in water

and cover it with dirt

I dream another ending

and prune the planted thought

I play a game of hide-n-seek

I go to bed too late

I wash a load of dirty stuff

so my towels don’t stink

My poem, it hasn’t grown yet

I sing a song to help

I think it needs more oxygen

or maybe moonlight helps

I think I need more oxygen

my dog is out of food

I plant a thought in firewood

and cover it with glue

A hurricane is coming

Wait, that makes no sense

I research Ancient Egypt

put car keys on the fence

I want to research Ancient Rome

but my internet is down

I try to get my kitten

to claw my poems in dirt

I hope I get confused

Oh, shoot, that makes no sense

I dance the fuchsia rumba

wash dishes in your sink

I nurture poems so gently

I let them get some rest

I nurture poems so fiercely

I think that works best

I tighten bolts and loosen screws

I don’t slurp cold blue soup

I think about some rhyming poems

and sweep my basement steps

I polish nouns and splinter verbs

I lose six pairs of socks

I drink plum juice and eat eight rocks

and revise my poem again.

Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash