Poet Laura: Possibilities

Happy National Poetry Month! We’re over a week into our annual poetic celebration and I hope it’s been a cheerful one for you so far. Preparation of this month’s post took me on a meandering poetic route.

I intended to read poems to chickens, as is one of my duties as Poet Laura. However, the owner of the chickens I wanted to entertain was out of state for the month of March. The owner is also my very good friend, and while the chickens were getting the recitation of poetry, if I was to make the hour-long drive to their farm I wanted to visit with their owner, as well. I rethought my source of chickens and discovered some on a more local farm. But every time I planned to go, it rained. More accurately, can I say, it deluged? So much rain! And, as I was drafting this, even an earthquake!

So, I had to adjust the plan. Before I completely move on from the chickens, though: here’s a poem which I may or may not, in the future, read to chickens. If I do read this poem, I’ll do it with the warning that it’s most definitely not an invitation. It’s just a poem. (Though, is any poem really just a poem?) Maybe I’ll rethink reading this one to them. Maybe not. The gift of fresh eggs in the morning sounds delightful!

Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens

Last night I dreamed of chickens,
there were chickens everywhere,
they were standing on my stomach,
they were nesting in my hair,
they were pecking at my pillow,
they were hopping on my head,
they were ruffling up their feathers
as they raced about my bed.

—excerpt from “Last Night I Dreamed About Chickens” by Jack Prelutsky (read the whole poem)

As I pivot my thoughts away from chickens, for now, I remember that April is also Earth Month, and around our parts at Tweetspeak, Poetic Earth Month. At The Write to Poetry you can get a complimentary digital 30-day prompt book (paid subscribers). It’s not too late! Even if you only write one poem this month. And there’s a place to share what you’ve written.

I pulled my copy of Earth to Poetry off my bookshelf. It’s one I return to throughout the year, not only for the creative and inspiring prompts, but also as a resource for improving my care strategies for our environment. The idea of making an impact on our planet’s enormous need can feel overwhelming, but in reality, each little collective change impacts the slowing of our footprint on the world around us. I have made several changes at my office that seemed so small, and I wondered, initially, if the effort to change habits would yield a significant impact. Now, I use cloth wipes to clean the therapy table after each session instead of paper towels. I also provide individual cloth towels in the bathroom for hand-drying (and at home, I use laundry sheets that are environmentally friendly). I have a set of utensils, a dish, and a bowl instead of using paper plates and plastic. I’ve witnessed how this small effort will reduce the use of paper towels over the course of a year, and the volume of trees it will preserve, I know it’s worth it.

I opened the book to Day 6: No Rain. Ironic, given our recent precipitation. Although this prompt leads the poet to write about a sense of loss, I riffed in another direction. Poetry doesn’t mind where you go, as long as you go!

Worms (Where They Belong)

Outside the new office
a well-laid brick patio,
a white picket fence
with a wrought-iron gate.
New bulbs bloom
in the perimeter each week:
daffodil, jonquil
hyacinth, tulip.
Sweetness damp soil,
faint florals waft across
my cheek—perhaps
the plum tree across the lot
begging proper praise?

Into the office I step,
discover a few displaced
beings in the waiting
room—one worm, curled
into a treble clef, dried up
in the corner, and one long
worm, tail end crushed a little
(I’M SO SORRY!) and stuck
to the floor. I grab the dust
pan, lift the moving
one back into the garden,
pointing away from the door,
and wish him luck. The other,
quite stuck, I scrape up
and return to the garden
as well. And then add
“clear caulk” to my list.

—Michelle Rinaldi Ortega

Anything can be poetic. That’s the “possibility” of poetry. Emily Dickinson writes of poetry as “A fairer House than Prose” in her poem:

I dwell in Possibility – (466)

Of Visitors—the fairest—
For Occupation—This—
The spreading of my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise—

—excerpted from “I dwell in Possibility – (466)” by Emily Dickinson (read the whole poem)

The occupation of poetry is “to gather Paradise.” When the Tweetspeak community, which is largely an online space, can gather in person, poetry does seem to gather us in paradise. At one of our meet-ups, our group played Charades. I pulled the name “Emily Dickinson” to enact, and I froze. I couldn’t think off the top of my head of a single thing about the much-loved poet, or her life, that would give a reasonable representation for the group to guess. The only detail that came to mind was her use of the “dash,” so, eventually, I pretending to scribe in the air, in script, with long, exaggerated dashes at the end of every line. Someone did actually guess! Bravo!

And then, while searching for “poems of possibility,” I came across a poem of impossibility.

The Impossible

Who knows what we can do? When friends believe
In us, the chrysalis grows tight and splits
And, struggling out, we fly.

—excerpted from “The Impossible” by Anna Crowe (read the whole poem)

I wish you a beautiful, meaningful celebration of National Poetry/Poetic Earth Month, abundant with poems in solitude and in community, and with poetic friends who believe.

Featured photo by Jeremy Cruz, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Michelle Ortega.

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Michelle Rinaldi Ortega

As a quiet child and angst-y teen, Michelle loved to read and write. When poetry found her again about fifteen years ago, the Tweetspeak community brought her multiple resources on journey, from content to courses to in-person meetups. She hosted Tweetspeak’s very first Mischief Cafe! A speech-language pathologist by day, Michelle's avocations include travel across the country and the globe, as well as digital and black and white film photography. Michelle is the author of Don't Ask Why from Seven Kitchens Press. Her microchapbook, Tissue Memory, is forthcoming from Porkbelly Press. You can find her work at www.michelleortegawrites.com and on IG @michellebelleslp.

Latest posts by Michelle Rinaldi Ortega (see all)

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• Poet Laura: Chicken Dreams - August 14, 2024