Today's prompts from Wrute Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "pocket" poem, and (2) "compare your everyday present life with your past self, using specific details to conjure aspects of your past and present in the reader’s mind."
Robert's prompt is in honor of tomorrow, which is "Poem in Your Pocket Day," when we're encouraged to carry a copy of a short poem in our pockets and share them with family, freinds or strangers. So we could write a pocket-sized poem, or a poem about pockets. Mine certainly didn't turn out pocket-sized, but it's interesting how thinking about the contents of your pockets can conjure up memories sometimes. You might say the rock in this poem is like Proust's "madeleine."
Talisman
I find a rock in my pocket,
a smooth white one my granddaughter gave me
for safe keeping. She thought it was a diamond,
but I didn’t correct her, and I rub it absently
with my thumb, which summons up memories
of when I used to collect rocks in my pocket,
and I could name them—
shale, sandstone, granite and quartz—
and kept them in my dungarees
(that’s what we called jeans back then,
before supermodels wore them)
along with some string, a compass,
a pack of Juicy Fruit Gum, a seldom-used comb,
(I had a crew cut that summer)
and some change from my allowance,
back when parents paid allowance in change,
so I could ride my one-speed Schwinn into town
and buy a Matchbox toy, back before they were
all speedy, slick-wheeled sports cars.
Today I would buy a milk truck, #35 in my collection.
I’d pay my 50 cents and stick it in my front hip pocket,
safe inside its little cardboard box (hence the name)
before stopping at the newsstand to buy candy
with the rest of my change, maybe a Baby Ruth
or some Good & Plenty. I had no car keys, no credit cards,
no phone in my pocket (if there was trouble,
you found a pay phone booth, like Superman),
but I did have rocks, just like I have one today,
pacifying my nervous thumb, which somehow
has unlocked its magical powers.
a smooth white one my granddaughter gave me
for safe keeping. She thought it was a diamond,
but I didn’t correct her, and I rub it absently
with my thumb, which summons up memories
of when I used to collect rocks in my pocket,
and I could name them—
shale, sandstone, granite and quartz—
and kept them in my dungarees
(that’s what we called jeans back then,
before supermodels wore them)
along with some string, a compass,
a pack of Juicy Fruit Gum, a seldom-used comb,
(I had a crew cut that summer)
and some change from my allowance,
back when parents paid allowance in change,
so I could ride my one-speed Schwinn into town
and buy a Matchbox toy, back before they were
all speedy, slick-wheeled sports cars.
Today I would buy a milk truck, #35 in my collection.
I’d pay my 50 cents and stick it in my front hip pocket,
safe inside its little cardboard box (hence the name)
before stopping at the newsstand to buy candy
with the rest of my change, maybe a Baby Ruth
or some Good & Plenty. I had no car keys, no credit cards,
no phone in my pocket (if there was trouble,
you found a pay phone booth, like Superman),
but I did have rocks, just like I have one today,
pacifying my nervous thumb, which somehow
has unlocked its magical powers.
[Note: Tomorrow I am embarking on a long road trip and may not have time to bang out a poem for the day. If that happens, look for me to post my contribution by the weekend.]
2 comments:
I enjoyed the time (and for me space) travel with your rock, Bruce. I had to look up Baby Ruth and Good & Plenty. I remember making calls from public telephones with fondness – like Superman!
Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it.
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