#NaPoWriMo – Day Eighteen – The Poem Fish

There are no hooks or bait.
The skill is standing barefoot
when the ice water runs across your toes
and the feeling goes thick in your fingers
waiting for the hum in the current.
You can be there for months,
lock-kneed and bent into shapes
you must learn yourself out of.
Still the Poem Fish does not swim
in those waters,
or if it does you sense it slip
smaller than a minnow
through the splayed net of your hands,
watch the words melt and rush
away with the rest of the river current.
Other days the Poem Fish arrive in shoals,
thrash themselves over each other
to leap into your hands.
Those are the days you learn
which Poem Fish to throw back to grow
and which you should take a knife to,
split open along the belly seam
and spill onto the page.
Some will turn before you cut,
a dead thing dead before you thump
its scaled head against the rocks,
and filled with sand.
Those are not Poem Fish,
they will not fill you up.

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#NaPoWriMo – Day Seventeen – Moon Gaze

She has the same look about her,
or so it seems
when she tilts her cheek just so
and the tides shift,
shrink in on themselves
so ashamed by her disappointment.
Uncanny, how similar she seems
reflected beside me.

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#NaPoWriMo – Day Fourteen – My Married Name

This name is still an uncertain bird in my mouth,
perched at the tip of my tongue when I reach
for its fragile feathered body.
So small in the hold of my hand
it cheeps, cheeps, cheeps
and I say Finch, Finch, Finch
to the mirror above the sink,
check the windows are closed before loosening
the grip I have on its wings
uncertain if I can make the sound stick.

Write a poem that delves into the meaning of your first or last name.

NaPoWriMo 2021 Prompt – Day Fourteen

#NaPoWriMo – Day Thirteen – News Anchor

There is nothing to report.
Just cameras whittling time
into little pixeled boxes.
Behind a curved desk
an anchor is just that today,
a weight to keep the ship steady
focused in on itself,
to stop the rigging pulling loose,
or port and starboard drifting
too far from the bones of each other.
The mics only capture seafoam,
its hiss, hiss, hiss, on sand
as the nothing news drags in
and out across our feet.

Write a poem in the form of a news article you wish would come out tomorrow.

NaPoWriMo 2021 Prompt – Day Thriteen