Abandoned House

If we lived here,
we would see trees
from every window –
vertical lines
accented by the light
through the leaves.
If we lived here,
we’d gather
acorns and cones,
strips of bark and lichen.
We’d grow so accustomed
to the quiet
so much so
that the snaps
and howls of the forest
wouldn’t echo and crawl
into our rooms.
We’d shut the drapes
in the winter
and pile wood on the porch
for fires.
And in the summer,
we would abandon the house,
and spend most of our days
outside.
Some of the doors
might lose
their handles
and some of the rooms
might lose
their doors,
but out here,
the house is just a shelter
and the home
is outside,
among the trees.

~ Megan M. Codera

* NaPoWriMo poem prompt for Day 16: take the “Almanac Questionnaire,” which solicits concrete details about a specific place (real or imagined). Then write a poem incorporating or based on one or more of your answers. 

Twice as Long

Half way to habit,
half way to
too late
to turn
back around.
This is where
we double
the expectations
just to accept
the weight of
failing
falling
finding
a rhythm
you might not
understand.
The world needs
all kinds
of rhythms –
rain on pavement,
rain on leaves.
This trail
may not
come out
where you expect.
It may be thick
with cedar branches
that reach
like they will grab you
and you may have to
step over
the horse dung.
You may come out
onto gravel roads
where they have dumped
old fences and furniture,
and you may want
to turn around
or find
another trail.
One part of you
steps through
scotchbroom
while the other
listens
for the road.

~ Megan M. Codera

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
nothing,
the devastation
puts us at such a loss
of appetite,
of appeal,
of apparent
surrender
to the great
cosmos.
We also know
the real fortune
cannot be found
in a cookie.
That sometimes,
the nothing we find
is really something.
And
“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.

How We Are

We do not quite hold
conversations
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.
Yet,
each morning,
as we drive toward the day,
we both look
for the mountain
as we come around
the curve.

~ Megan M. Codera

Viola

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

My grandfather’s cursive list:
violets – yellow
elderberry
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