The word: Life
Jack used to be a baseball player, I learned. He also nearly died last September but had a miraculous recovery. When I met him at my literary society during my 15th college reunion, he was cheerful and staunchly glad to be alive. We talked for nearly an hour and I got to meet his entire family, whom he is very, very proud of. At the end, he wished me “mazel tov” and I promised him a poem.
The Stranger: Jack
His Word: Life
The poem I wrote:
You filled a box with purple and gold
flowers that match a secret you once kept.
Keep it close. In it your power lies seeded.
There is a noetic murmuring that won’t
go away. It is, of course, theoretical.
Let it terrorize you now, silencing the day
you grow as old as that tree.
We are just so young when we are young.
Let this, or something, be your power.
Purple and gold, as once you loved.
Let the good from above drip down.
Let it cover you like egg yolk.
To be full of life is to be at the mercy
of those who are tired of living.
Endure. Give away no power,
not even seeded as a gift. Fill up with purple
and gold and grow as old as trees.
Yes, there is a secret here. Learn it.
The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.