Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was an interesting one, and could prove fruitful on days when I have more time. Still working on my draft for the CV2 2-Day poem contest, so the daily April poem is taking a bit of a backseat. But I did a little experimenting with the prompt, which asks writers to fill out an almanac entry for the day, then use it as a springboard for the poem. The almanac questions are listed above the poem, with my responses. Then the short poem I wrote below. Obviously I didn’t put all the responses in there, but it still ended up a little everything-but-the-kitchen-sinky.
Weather: Crazy wind
Flora: tulips braving spring; blowing trees
Customs: coffee; toast; news; try to write; more coffee
Mammals/reptiles/fish: 2 cats, 4 humans; a hurried house spider I met in the laundry room
Childhood dream: to be a teacher
Found on the Street: winter’s leftover grime
Export: grief – get it outta here
Graffiti: my daughters’ sidewalk chalk drawings
Lover: Thankfully, yes
Conspiracy: only my own self-sabotaging procrastination
Dress: black leggings and a Fight Evil With Poetry tee
Hometown memory: walking by the weir
Notable person: Justin Trudeau
Outside your window, you find: kids’ toys tossed about
Today’s news headline: Don’t rely on herd immunity to reopen economy: Tam
Scrap from a letter: …doing better than expected…
Animal from a myth: unicorn
Story read to children at night: Charlotte’s Web
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: a broken wine bottle; daffodils sneaking through fence boards
You walk to the border and hear: silence
What you fear: something happening to my kids
Picture on your city’s postcard: Broadmoor Lake
Steady roar of wind, like the din of a moving ocean.
Out the window I see trees arced like waves, a loose strand
of Christmas lights left on the neighbour’s bungalow flapping against the roof.
I’d like to ask this belligerent wind whether it could carry my grief and anxiety away
with the clouds of street dust. Toss it around like my daughter’s pail of sidewalk chalk.
Clear my brain of all this worry rubble, thoughts mulled and twisted so often they’ve turned
to pebbles. The kind that find their way into your sandals when you walk down the alley,
searching for defiant tulips and daffodils who’ve snuck through fence boards. The kind that
distract you so much, you wonder whether you’ll ever see those flowers blooming again.