Sometimes the prompts align seamlessly. Today’s Stroll of Poets prompt called for an “unknowable” poem, while Poetic Asides suggested poems having anything to do with “dark.” Infinite possibilities, but this is what sparked in my brain.
Staring at the night sky, December, north of the 52nd parallel, fixate
not on every glimmering point of light, but the blackness that holds them.
Face bit by the kind of cold that reminds you you’re alive.
That distracts you from the impenetrable idea of infinity.
Even darkness, silence have their wonders, but grasping them seems
impossible. Too much for an earthbound body to bear.
Melding prompts again today with Poetic Asides suggestion to take the name of a plant, flower or tree and make it the title of your poem, and the NaPoWriMo.net prompt to pick something impossible from a list of statements, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens. The statement I picked was The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky. Because it’s Earth Day, I was also thinking about humanity’s propensity to shoot ourselves in our own earthbound feet.
Some things aren’t supposed to happen.
Stars aren’t supposed to rearrange themselves in the sky.
Flowers aren’t supposed to bloom at midnight.
We’re not supposed to be our own worst enemy.
Under the hood of night
Cassiopeia does yoga, corpse pose,
tries the lazy letter I on for size.
The datura opens, moonflower
swallowing the dark with her
soft white lips. Seducing
the sphinx moth with her scent.
The city’s backyard aglow
with the twinkling
oil refinery, burning 24/7.
the dark side.