I just finished the last of my three poems today. In case I hadn't mentioned, I've been using the prompts from Robert Lee Brewer's blog, Poetic Asides. The prompt today was to write a 'message in a bottle' poem. I wrote two. Some of my other prompts from come sites like NaPoWriMo and Big Tent Poetry or from this ambitious lady's blog. My third poem came from an experience today. No prompt necessary.
You'll see that I couldn't have been
too important since this was written
on the back of a paper placemat from
a diner just down the highway,
but I think all diners around here
must buy the same the placemats from
the same distributor, which makes this
even less unique, so, I don't really
have much to say except that I lived
around here. Probably not far from
where you found the bottle this was in.
I wrote here, I slowly unraveled here.
I don't think there were many who were
very interested, but it was something
I had to do, like breathing. So if you
happen to look up my name on the internet
and find poems floating in limbo,
those are mine. Those little fragments
of me that are left. The pieces that will
tell you more about me than anyone
can tell you.
I hope the sight of a bottle floating
in your kitchen sink, stopped up and
filled to the top didn't startle you.
I sneaked in while you were at work
and left you this message just to let
you know that I thought of you today,
and how I never picked up on your
subtle hints, how I missed the goofy
things you did, like standing on
counters and hiding in recycling bins.
I still have that cd you made for me.
I wonder if you still read my books.
I'm leaving my number at the bottom.
Call me some time so I can remember
the voice that shapes my regrets.
For the woman who told me to wash my hands
When you're at home and carefully pulling
apart the fragile fibers of an english muffin,
do you first lather your hands under the heavily
chlorinated Willingboro water and think of
how you'd tell other people to do the same?
Do you cover your mouth when you cough?
After you opened the door at my job,
did you rustle through your bag desperately
searching for a wipe to cleanse yourself
of the hands of others who opened it before you,
or just those who look like me?
When my shirt caught my sneeze in the shoulder,
I felt your eyes judging my exterior,
as if I'd catapulted a plague towards everyone
within earshot of my allergic reaction to pepper.
When you felt the need to complain,
did you think I'd cower under your jaded hand
and apologize for the audacity of my body?
Will you wake tomorrow and find another place
to spread your hate?