The last week has given me hope that this winter, and this pandemic, are in their last throes. I experimented with a little free verse, prose-style poetry this week. While walking in Bush Park (Bush’s Pasture Park) I wrote three poems. I don’t think any of them are quite finished, but I need more time to think through the edits. In the meantime, I am sharing these unfinished poems here with you.
Your Hair
A week after the accident, I find a single strand of blonde hair
on my jacket that I had left on the couch. I collapse to my knees
and sob while holding your hair.
A month after the accident, I find another strand of your hair.
This time, it’s desperately clinging to my t-shirt that you stole
for a quick trip to the store, and then hung back up in my closet.
I hold your single, long, blonde hair up to the sunlight and wonder,
If I will ever again find another strand of your beautiful hair or if
now it is all gone—the last vestige of your physical presence in my life.
Baseball in February
Our college team is on the diamond warming up on the
penultimate day of February. The balls snap sharply
into the mitts of the young men in the crisp air. The
bright sun and clear sky make even this cold day feel like
spring. Perhaps the cantankerous groundhog was right this
year—spring may come early.
Each catch-playing duo has its own rhythm as they whip the
ball back and forth, oblivious to the snap, thwap, and whoosh
of their neighbors. Smiles burn as brightly on the faces of the young
men as the winter sun lighting up the park. Chatter and chuckles
pepper the infield as the tightly stiched orbs fly back and forth to the
playlist that must have been chosen by a coach—anchored as it is
by mid-90s Peral Jam and Tom Petty.
Dog Walkers
Two humans, strangers to each other, stand together calling
for their dogs who are sprinting after a squirrel thirty yards away
racing each other for the pleasure of being the first one to wrap their
canine teeth around the neck of the small mammal.
One of the dogs is a trim, golden retriever and the other is a grim boxer.
The growls and barks of the hunt drown out the pleas of the hapless owners
who still stand calling for Sturgill and Sunny to come back.
Between the two humans is a sign that sternly warns:
Pets prohibited unless on leash AND accompanied by
Owner or custodian.
Sunny and Sturgill can’t read.
I’ll be back with more haiku soon.
Here are some links:
This is the park where I take most of my walks. It’s gorgeous, though right now it’s cluttered with fallen trees and branches from the storm a few weeks ago. It also has an interesting history. There’s always something interesting happening, like dog owners trying to get their off-leash pets back.
Click on the link above to see what Patrick is talking about. It’s worth your time. Check out the comments too. The one about “business crocs” is my personal favorite.
Thanks for reading!
Be the poetry you want to see in the world,
Jason