this poem is a wild child

,
a fleeting thought caught
on a string, bleating out
her most quiet things and
watching them float. it’s a wild

er
-nest, a best chance
at consorting with clouds
and drinking out loud
of the deepest blue
see. it’s me, age 3
with a raw umber
crayon, marking up
the world in furious
fling, stung and sung
and flung loose by
the fight of a far
-most sun.

it’s one
thing after another,
a chocolate smothered
someday soon,
eaten with a slivered spoon.

this poem hasn’t washed
its hair in weeks; it reeks
of sweat and salt and
singed edges. it’s wedged
in be
-tween. have you seen
its left shoe? it threw
it at the moon, and has yet
to get it
back.

it’s black clacked and crowed,
bent and bowed under a
temper tantrum sky. it’s

why, and are we
there yet
and how come
and other entirely rhetorical
(re-tore-tickle)
questions buckled
in backward.

give it a second
chance, your last
best glance, some
fancy flowing party
pants;
and a timeout corner
place to

…………………dance.

..
dancing backward through OctPoWriMo, in curious heels. this wild thing was day 10

 

 

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3 Responses to this poem is a wild child

  1. Shawna says:

    Oh, how much I love this!!!

    I always read/write a hanging comma as a hanging coma. So that adds a lot to this for me.

    Ernest Goes to Camp. Ernest Hemingway. In Love and War. That’s where your “wild Ernest” took me. Also, ear-nest. So now I see a stirred up beehive, only the bees are flying ears. 🙂 That make honey, of course!

    I love the part about you and your crayon, and also the section about the chocolate-covered (what I anticipated to be moon but instead got:) someday soon.

    So good: “this poem hasn’t washed
    its hair in weeks” … And isn’t that the best kind, anyway?

    I love the time-out corner for dancing. 🙂

  2. tsdwords says:

    In remember raw umber…a perfect choice for a wild child. Hope she gets her shoe back, but the moon may be enjoying having some sole…;-)

  3. I’d like to give her a really wild princess dress 🙂 I love all the thrown in bits of childhood here – one thing after another; have you seen its left shoe!

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