KateMcCarrollMoore

It should be even hotter this day, deep in July

but there’s a cool breeze ruffling the Potomac

as we walk along the National Mall

We stop at the tall obelisk,

We run our hands along the wall engraved with the names of the dead

watch an old man trace the memory of his beloved’s ghost

We climb the stairs to the place where Lincoln sits, towering over the crowd

reminding us to cherish a just and lasting peace, just within our reach

We breathe the air as one

We push through museum’s heavy doors,

spaces filled with curiosities and collections

objects of wonder, categorized and stored

mementos of the past

war and sacrifice

the fight for freedom

A helicopter whirs overhead

The wind picks up

distorting the shimmery shadows of the reflecting pool

history is heavy with the reminders of what’s at stake

We breathe this air as one

We are the people

We rise

Tonight, on the eve of 64, I settle in to read this book. In Chapter 1, the author returns to school after retiring from life as an academic. She’s 64. She is considered old. Too old to be in art school. And here I am on the eve of 64, feeling young and full of possibility. So much left to do. Retirement is just a few years away. What comes next? Maybe not art school, but I fantasize about studying narrative medicine. Or an MFA in poetry. Or…

We walk across the manicured lawns and through the marbled hallways

Stop to study the writings and paintings and antiquities

collected and curated across the centuries

testament to curiosity and the worship of creation

We pause before works sculpted before Christ, still intact

once buried, now preserved, revered once more

We stand, transfixed – a single tile, Italian

holds us fast

its message, translated, mesmerizes, challenges, comforts

Have hope

a message for today, we carry it with us out into the California sunshine

Where

We check our messages in the courtyard

Another shooting

This one in a newsroom

We sit in silence

No more

I have read

the news

that was reported

today

and which

he was probably

hoping

we’d embrace

Forgive me

it was alarming

so un-Democratic

and so cold

#poetrymatters

#echoingWilliamCarlosWilliams

The birds understand

how today

the sky is a thick grey blanket

rippling in slow waves

releasing the unmistakable smell of about to rain

they were here this morning

among the roses

regaling with their sunshine songs until

they must have been cautioned by the wind to pack up their belongings

and take a little daytrip

Me? I’m not so wind-tuned.

There I sat as the sky changed, lost, deep in the pages of my book

splattered with raindrops

listening for birds that were no longer there.

(Day 30: 1 subject 30 ways #sensorypoem)

Trees decorated with spring

budding green-leafed,

waving in windbursts,

stretching tall

dotted with oriole jewels

that glimmer and shine

in the Sunday sun

(Day 29: 1 subject 30 ways #metaphorpoem)