Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.
This week's open mic was part of a transition phase for Stone Soup. In two weeks, we'll be introducing Jamilla VanDyke-Bailey as the first of our Zoom features, with hopefully many more following.
For everything going on in the world, his week was a lot more laid back. I was thankful this week and was able to get my lines down during the open mic for the first time in months. Didn't have to play back the entire open mic. Means this week's offering is more spontaneous. Maybe not better, but definitely more spontaneous and more fun. Thanks for reading.
Before Bed
Hang your troubles on the line
so they'll be dry to wear tomorrow.
Bad feelings beget proof all is bad
till even clothes smell of doomsday.
The rabbit pajamas grandmother made
hide nothing you want to hide,
your feet all stigmata in the footies.
Infinity never seemed so small,
an Atlas-daunting load condensed
to a bluejay asleep in breadbox
or a fiery coal, planet heavy, held
like a toddler carrying Dad's beer
while he starts a Sisyphus stride. Burden
hidden deep in fourth dimensional pocket,
tucked away like feelings towards Mom.
Better stored with unwanted dreams.
Crocodile jaw arms of abusive friends.
Least favorite class, more tests to flunk.
A stage for a dance never rehearsed,
the audience welcomes you as lord.
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| Bil mocks me for forgetting to unmute myself for the hundredth time. |
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| Erik Tate joined while driving home, pulling over to read. Dedication. |
Special thanks to Patricia Carragon, Eric Tate, Angelo D'Amato, Bil Lewis, Julia Vogel, Aru, Nancy Dodson, Ed Gault, Ethan Mackler and James Van Looy.
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