NaPoWriMo – Day 30

It’s the final day of this year’s poem-a-day challenge, and as always I feel simultaneously tired and invigorated. Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt asked for a poem inspired by a strange fact or historical nugget, while the Poetic Asides final prompt of the month asked for a coming-to-an-end poem. With a little internet exploring of weird facts and Wikipedia pages, I combined the two prompts to make this:

I get it, Frederic Baur

I’m learning
this strange fact ten years after
your death. That you, inventor of
the Pringles potato chip tube, asked
your family to put your ashes in one.
What flavour once lived in there
before you? Was it the bright red one,
iconic, yet housing the ho-hum plain?
Was it the green sour cream and onion,
a peppy shade to brighten up the
evermore? Were you paid well
for your ingenuity, your creativity,
your push to try something new
with the tried and true? Perhaps it’s
warped of me, yes, to think that once
you popped and now you’ve stopped,
but I can tell you this, Mr. Baur, organic
chemist turned food product sage:
I will never again gaze at that cylinder
of salty snacks without thinking of this
outlandish fact, and how  all of us just want
what’s left kept in what remains.

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November PAD – Day 24

Today’s prompt called for a “how I’ll be remembered” poem. I found it incredibly hard, and I’m not even sure what I wrote answers the prompt, but it is an exercise I’d like to come back to.

24.

If, in the liminal space between here and there (if there is a there), I have a choice, I think I’ll go to my funeral. I’ll stand at the back, maybe naked as the day I was born, or wearing whatever I died in. But if I have a choice in that too, I’ll be in my favourite grey sweater and the best fitting pair of jeans. Tall black boots, and dangly earrings. I won’t count heads, or make note of anyone absent, and I won’t look for tears, drooped shoulders — outward signs of heavy hearts. I’ve already learned grief is immeasurable. Invisible. But I will listen. Not for the hope of praise or plaudits. But for memories, I’ve either forgotten or never realized I’d been a part of. For the gift of meeting a self I never even knew existed.