I have not been writing a poem a day this month, but every day this month I have either started a new poem, worked on editing my manuscript, worked on an essay about Adrienne Rich, or conducted research for as-yet unwritten poems. Yesterday I began this poem below in my car on the way to chaperoning a field trip with my son's class at Tiger Mountain.
Why I’d Like to Meet My Maker
Because he will tell me whether Keebaek’s telling the truth
about his absence (suicidal friend, cat with an abscess, missed bus);
because we can have ourselves a chat about gravity, that lusty pull
coalescing particles into stars, planets, us. Maybe I’m nosey, overly
forward, but I will be wanting answers about not only about Apollo 11
and Roswell but unspeakable evil. As for the yellow-spotted millipede,
I will commend him on peristaltic motion, on somites and diplosomites,
on the spraying of death-deterring hydrocyanic acid. Because he can share
his thoughts on cruelty, on the abuses of power. While he is nodding
you’re welcomes, providing me with sensible answers, I will be thanking him
for chartreuse and sienna, for salmon-berry blossoms and yeast,
the rising warmth of cinnamon rolls, the rising trill of a purple finch.
I hope you are finding time to write a poem a day during the month of April, or, like me, fitting it in when you can.