waking up I try to decipher
if what I thought I saw
was something I lived
or if I just slept through it
I bend down and squint
through mighty tomato stalks
sifting and sorting
sight from vision
but this plant is tighter lipped
than a vow of silence
and yesterday’s wine won’t leave my head
I swear you can hear
the garden growing
it’s a constant cheep and chatter
like the cardinals that bring news each morning
I’ve been listening
to the asparagus spear the spring air
around it, wishing with a craned neck
to pierce the sky
from down the street
I can hear a stone rumbling
its way forever away from the prison
of the newly hewn tomb
like an echo of old thunder
breathing life back into winter roots
awakening with their own new grumble
and when I think of those grumbles
sometimes I swear I can even hear my own bones
This poem is in response to today’s NaPoWriMo prompt – which has to do with something surreal, or that’s the part my brain latched onto at least! All of these are really rough drafts, since I’m writing quickly and then sharing them just as quickly. Thank you for reading!
The Poetry Patio 