Empty Fortune

I take my fortune without the cookie
and you take neither.
Once, you got an empty one –
no fortune,
no phrase,
no paper at all.
It scarred you
into superstition.
We are so certain
of what we will find
and then if we find
the devastation
puts us at such a loss
of appetite,
of appeal,
of apparent
to the great
We also know
the real fortune
cannot be found
in a cookie.
That sometimes,
the nothing we find
is really something.
“It never pays to kick a skunk.”

~ Megan M. Codera

 *NaPoWriMo poem prompt for Day 13: fortune cookie.

One Week of Weather

25, Bright and clear and busy;
26, Mild rain;
27, Blustery beginning and end;
28, Dry and cloudy and mild;
29, Some rain, with clearings;
30, Cold, bright and cloudy, with rainbows;
31, Bright and quite cold, with clouds and clearings…

~ Megan M. Codera

 * NaPoWriMo poem prompt for Day 12: write an index poem, found or fabricated.

Book Spines


Various miracles:
the meadow,
the edge of the sea,
the sky, the stars, the wilderness,
the highest tide,
the road,
and the mountain echoed.
Thank you for the music.


You shall know your own velocity,
driving blind
in the fall.
The commitment.
The room to write
the hours


Holding the line
into the wild –
cold mountain,
a wild swan,
a void.

~ Megan M. Codera

 * NaPoWriMo poem prompt for Day 10: write the book spines on your shelf into poems.

How We Are

We do not quite hold
as I hoped we would
by now.
But we do share songs
and books and a love
for words and stories
that rarely need
further discussion; 
just by encouraging
each other to listen,
we hear what the world
is trying to say.
We struggle
to talk
about practical things,
like the future
and pain.
each morning,
as we drive toward the day,
we both look
for the mountain
as we come around
the curve.

~ Megan M. Codera


I found a hike
on a thin note,
tucked inside
an old field guide
to wildflowers.

My grandfather’s cursive list:
violets – yellow
oregon grape
skunk cabbage
avalanche lilies
wild currents  
(Only one of which
was actually listed
in the field guide)

There was also
a ballpoint pen sketch
of one flower
he could not name
with pointed petals
and a stem of slender leaves.
“Five yellow” it said,
and a “fleshy, round stem”.
I searched the guide
but found nothing
so exact
to his picture.

It may be true
that these notes are
no more than
what they are
and they hold
no secret histories.

They are all I never asked,
And all I never knew.  

~ Megan M. Codera

*NaPoWriMo poem prompt for Day 8: flower.

In the Woods

Each day I count the deer.
I take stock of the clouds
and the possibility of rain.

Out here, this is so much rain
flooding the fields where deer
wander around under the darkest clouds.

When the wind takes those clouds,
And with them, the possibility of rain,
The light angles into the woods to find deer,
Face upon face of deer, once shadowed by clouds of rain.

~ Megan M. Codera

*NaPoWriMo poem prompt for Day 7: write a tritina.

Another Season

I am hungry for sunrise
on a river
as I try to find my shoes
and stumble out of the tent
without waking anyone.
As I start the fire without talking
and try to ignore
the mess on the tables
from last night’s games.
I am hungry
for the water to boil
for the coffee press
so I can sit by the fire
and read between
my gazes at the water
and the flames
and the birds I cannot name
without my glasses.

~ Megan M. Codera


At five in the morning,
the threads of me
are tentacles,
choosing quickly
what to pull in,
what to leave alone
for now.

The fringe catches
on the handle of
the storm door
and trips me
up the steps to the office.

If I hit the light just right,
my face will hide
the canals in my gut
and the tangle
of the lines below.

Even the thinnest
fishing line
can pull an

At five o’clock,
I am split open
the unfinished things
that will wait for tomorrow
and the other parts of me,
waiting at home.

~ Megan M. Codera