Who needs words when you own the wind?
When your wingtips flash and you know the subtleties
of reflection and shrugs and the next moment’s
glee. My friends bring me bits of each day.
Today, the bright cap lifted from a cava bottle’s
cork. Three days ago, an aluminum heart
stamped with “best.” The rodent-nibbled straw hat
perched jauntily atop my head bears a pearl
earring, and yesterday a skeleton
key materialized in my left coat pocket,
in which a mouse skull and foil wrappers
also rest. My wealth abounds, and despite
protests, I am rewarded daily. Look, they say,
accept this offering for what it is: a participation
in joy. So I point to choice grains, contribute advice
and song, screech warnings and recite poetry,
though my straw tongue often wavers.
What else may I tender to those who travel
so freely? Last week a polished hinge
came to me, and before that, a chipped glass
eye, which might someday replace my missing
ocular button, should needle and thread appear.
Each day is a gift to be shared. Every gift,
a celebration of days, a commitment to living.
I am grateful, and in my gratitude, give.
* * *
Many thanks to Charles of Words and Feathers for sponsoring this poem. If you’d like to join in on the fun, see my September 5 post for sponsorship details. Give me a title, provide some words. Or think of another challenge! It’s all for a good cause: Brick Street Poetry, Inc.
Tomorrow’s poem is titled “The Kohlrabi Polka,” and is sponsored by Pleasant Street, who provided the, uh, interesting title.