GloPoWriMo: Day 16

magic

Magic Bean Coffee

Letters danced between the lines,
rearranging themselves into words:

Mast uri nut, nasturtium–
Cutter pub, buttercup.

Mansion drops, the boss scowls soon–
Scissors, spoons, bowls and the moon.

The writer’s pen draws petals
falling, ponds resting
and a frog
somersaulting.

At the chessboard,
the Ruy Lopez swirls
into the Nimzo-Indian,
While the Gruenfeld stands
off against the Caro-Kann.

“What’s in this coffee?”
the chess player calls into the kitchen.
Another sip. The Queen winks.

The writer thinks back
to the fixing.
While the kettle heated,
she’d looked out to the garden,
where morning doves
spread wings under the
sprinkler in the squash bed.

Spiny lizards pounced
after dragonflies.
A white-patched skipper
drank deep from the verbena
then soared in crazy drunk circles.

She ground the beans,
breathing in the brandy
mesquite graham cocoa cider
sweetness of it all.

“What did you say was in the coffee?”
called the chess player again.

“Nothing,” said the writer,
“Everything.”

“Oh. That explains it.”
And he moved his rook up the file.

Daily Prompt: “Write a poem that prominently features the idea of play,” from the Na/GloPoWriMo site.

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GloPoWriMo: Day 10

letter0216

Morning

Apples simmer on the stove
Fuji, gala, Granny Smith.
Water hisses in the kettle–
for coffee,
Mexican organic free trade
smelling of chocolate, wine, and tangerine
when I grind the beans

Bread turns to toast
on the top rack
of the oven
under the broiler

I think of poem titles
that all have to do
with limes

A cello picks up
the theme
in a fugue
in a Haydn quartet
on a CD
in the living room

My boyfriend
bustles into the kitchen
with a joke
about an imaginary
friend
we invented thirty-five
years ago. (She hasn’t aged.)

From the top branch
of the mesquite
a house finch
sings.

A spiny lizard stretches
across the top of the fence
reaching towards a slice
of sunlight.

Before the toast
burns, onions
sizzle in olive oil
in the sauce pan,
waiting to become
the inside of an omelette.

In the moment
just before the water boils–
silence.

no bird song
no sizzle
no hiss
no cello

no thought of poems–

Will you come with me,
into the quiet moment
in between
the bustle?

Daily Prompt: “Write a poem of simultaneity – in which multiple things are happening at once,” from the Na/GloPoWriMo site.

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