This poem is a name
It springs off your tongue like a rabbit,
two small hops and a final lunge out beyond
the space of your parted lips. You whisper it
to your cupped palms, an absent wind
beats against your fingers. You whisper it
into a half-full glass, the whiskey settles
like amber trapping its flight. You say it
to an open window, a yellow leaf turns
and turns again. At 2 AM in the morning,
you say it into a phone and from far across
the empty night, you hear the smile
in her “Hello”. A rabbit hops across the moon.
(NOTE: There are still 7 poems to be written to round off the whole 30. They will be written but most likely not posted. If I hadn’t been busy with a new job, long hours, and a coercive state that will not permit a working man a place to safely partake of his rightful (natural right, this being) share of booze beyond an arbitrary deadline of 1 AM (this was the case yesterday), there would have been 3 more poems.
This was fun. I’m happy with this year’s efforts. They have been good for the most part. Now for the edits and a finer honing of the series of poems I started this month. Here’s to be hoping I continue writing beyond this month!)
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