Peter, Paul and Mary are singing quietly in my head. Leaving on a jet plane... Happily, I DO know when I'll be back again.
From the NaPoWriMo website, "Today’s prompt is to write a love poem . . . but the object of the poem should be inanimate. You can write a love poem to your favorite pen, the teddy bear you had as a child (and maybe still have), or anything else, so long as it’s not alive!"
Having just wrestled my overloaded suitcase down the stairs, I think the least I can do is write a love poem to it. So here goes...
You always remind me of my first,
the one that encouraged me
to sprout invisible wings,
fly off to find my life.
Still, with all the trips I've taken
I've never learned to treat you properly,
insisting on stuffing you as if you were
a child home for Thanksgiving, not sure
where his next big meal will come from.
Today you clutch the books I cannot do without
even in this electronic age.
You find room for my dusty sandals,
the silly skirts I'll never wear up north,
you cradle the bright ceramic platter
and its matching bowls so carefully I know
you'll try to get them safely home
but should a careless baggage agent thwart our plans
the broken bits will simply join the midden that grows
under the fir tree in the curtilage.
I could never blame you.
You've had many incarnations.
Once awkward, you've grown more graceful over time.
With your telescoping handle, your recessed wheels
you follow me down sidewalks, through airports.
Both of us have softer sides than we used to.
After all these years, you're still blue.
Over and out from La Manzanilla. Next post will be from British Columbia.