Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Molt

Here is my Tupelo Press 30/30 poem for the day, which also marks the end of my first successful week writing a poem a day! It's been challenging, but I've loved every minute of it. I hope others ware enjoying it as well! On to week two, starting tomorrow. There's plenty more in store, to be sure.

If you think working a full-time job, taking care of 3 children, AND writing a poem a day is an epic undertaking, you are right. You can show your understanding of this epic undertaking by sponsoring me here! Just make a note of my name in the comments section, and the world will know that you support working mother-poets. Well, Tupelo Press will know, at least.

Today's NY Times word of the day is molt--something we have a new outlook on since adopting Korra, our Siberian Husky mix. I incidentally came across an article in the Washington post about blue crabs, from which I took the epigraph and a good bit of the really, really interesting imagery and emotion.

Molt

"During courtship, the female is molting, meaning her top shell softens as she grows a new and larger one, making her more vulnerable to predators." 

What do we know about connection, rivers,
populations, disaster? You simplify:
It's all about the metrics, the weighing and the counting.
The total numbers. Show the bottom line, you insist.

I have strayed away. I might have even
carried you on my back,
only once in my lifetime. I was growing
new and larger. Only once. 

Why we went, fanned out like ripples, 
to the mouth of the bay.
Why I was still in the winter. Perfectly still.
Why you couldn't save me then.

Then what becomes disaster? A pile of hair,
thinning grass where I cannot hide,
a red predator who is everywhere,
a winter when you stayed but still disappeared.










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