WOOOHOOO! This was the most fun poem to write! The prompt was totally succinct and completely doable - with lots of good challenge. I just am addicted to making my own hyphenated adjectives...I feel like a Word Goddess when I create my own descriptions...is that legal...to be a "Word Goddess"? Here is the prompt:
Here is my poem:
tiny tangled legs wrapped in timothy grass
pink palms flat, in a bird-hunter's blind.
a sudden chumble-chooking of meadowlarks
makes me sit up so sunrays bounce-refract from golden braids
tied with red yarn, fat as readied caterpillars. Grandma says,
"That's my favorite bird," and I agree.
In the u-pick, strawberry rows succumb to Roman-esque ways
sickening Bubba like little birdies weighty with seeded pulp.
Freezer jam is put up to remind us of engorged bellies and vertical stains on new white shirts,
but now lips, waxy-red as berry juice, are coated with the exhaust
of my raspberry car dusting itself away toward late-night pizzas
but chewing on the tar-bubbled smog-heated air and red wax lips that taste remotely of rolaids.
I collage and journal about dead-beat dads,
then I make art from lemons, instead of sugar-sweetened lemonade
with ice-cubes calmly clinking on cold-beaded glasses.
These feathered wings have beat the skin of a full-breasted moon, and Grandma says
"That's my favorite bird," and I am missing her.
Bubba has his own baby now and
the strawberries are in the sunsets that soften the broken crags.
These healing flames are like hands praying, clasped around the rake
as I make my own timothy grass come spiraling back around my legs.
I wash the red off my lips and finally see my own blood
as an autopsy of sunshine, lemons and feathers.