I've decided to change my goal a little X-D
How about instead of a poem a day, I just write as many as I can? Because man, one a day? No, I'm not cut out for that. I get all anal about them, and then I want to go back and revise, revise, revise while the conceit is still fresh in my mind. I can't leave them be. Taking a poem from scrap to poem in a day is, well for me, impossible (nearly, I've done it a few times, but it usually takes more time than I have most days...).
Ok so here's #5. At this rate, I'll be at 10 by the end of the month. Which, isn't really half bad.
Some things are done in faith, she says, her fists
filled with soot. She raises her hands to the wind
and opens up her palms. The wind periwinkles
with ash and blows past the garden bed, leaves
a fingerprint of gray on a single red bloom
of hibiscus. I can't understand how it works,
the bits and pieces of grease and bone
from the bottom of the grill will seep
to the soil, bring forth more blooms
but here, in this moment, the vibrant
red petals just dull. Like Moses,
she tosses another handful to the breeze
closes her eyes and waits for the boils
of blooms to come across the face
of our bed. That's just how it works.
Don't question, child.
I sit in the grass, bare kneed, split blades
with my fingernails, and try to make sense
of the world as bits of ash settle
in my hair.