I did think about it. Think about topics for poems, think about all the emotions raging inside of me, think about the commitment to myself to write a poem for each twenty-four hours I live on this earth during this 30 day month.
I started one about mint sneezes. But all I could visualize was a field of mint in someone's nose. (I'm not prone to limericks myself...)
I imagined writing one about holiness during a secular christening, and of wearing my great-grandmother's onyx and pearl cross whenever I attend something sacred. I invoked her and all my grandmothers of faith as a lit a candle for the little one, newly named.
I could have even thought of something clever about the gun powder plot or Guy Fawkes or at least emulated V for Vendetta in poetry form. I didn't. Obviously.
And yet you were never far from my mind: the poetry, and whomever might be reading it.
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