The word: Ebullient
Where I live, in Boise, we’ve had several hard snows – last week we were iced slick in, and the gray skies, too low, were bearing down on us. To cheer myself up, I went to see …
The stranger: Gregory, who gives a mean Thai massage. I like to see him in January, when it feels like a purification.
His word: Ebullient
The poem I wrote:
You will never catch the diamond light a wristwatch casts on a wall,
nor the secret energy source that feeds an ebullient person. Just like
you cannot net the scent of someone you love.
I once knew a woman who smelled like cinnamon and smoke; she
sewed me an orange doll. I would give it to my daughter but first
I had to smell it, to look for her in the fabric,
in the stitches of the nose. There are secrets sewn into these dolls:
you will always see your mother in their faces, but not quite.
My daughter will smell me until her own her-smell
flowers into the fabric, the dress. I know better but I don’t always
act on it. I know the senses are not lasting, that the best you can do
is to breathe her in, hard, one more time.
The challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.