It’s over. My beloved NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. I look forward to it all year, then whine about while writing. Here’s the last NaPoWriMo assignment:
The prompt ~
I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something that happens again and again (kind of like NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo). It could be the setting of the sun, or your Aunt Georgia telling the same story at Thanksgiving every single year. It could be the swallows returning to Capistrano or how, without fail, you will lock your keys in the car whenever you go to the beach.
Here’s the poem:
The door opens
On cats at the threshold
Each morning they await
Their entry into our bed.
Noses to the crack beneath
The door, they leap to attention
When my beloved swings it wide
They rush the bed I linger in
Scratch nesting hollows
Into the sheets and curl up
Their different bodies similar
In need. Hector large, male, dark
And easy. Sophie tiny, grey as smoke,
Her own quiet ghost. Each demanding
My attention. Which I offer willingly
Comforted by love that needs
Acknowledgement
Tea and Breath 