Even the pollen inside my lungs today feels a little embarrassed for the waste we’ve made of a good day that could have otherwise been spent with the wind in our face, bees humming about the elbows, and possibilities seeping slowly into our roots. Sometimes you just need to breathe, exhale to make room inside. Sometimes you need to think about what it feels like to sink fingernails into dirt and know that a tulip might just be a tulip without the weight of meaning anything at all to you, but it still matters that the two of you sit staring at one another for a little while. Just because.
Yes, I did skip Day 4. No, I’m not sure this counts as poetry even if I called it a prose poem. I’m not attempting to write a poem a day, though. I’m attempting to write pieces of poetry as often as possible, or at least pieces of things that can be whittled and refashioned later on to become poems. Maybe this doesn’t count for that either. It’s not my stellar best, but it is what I have today.