This poem came from a workshop I did at the Windhover festival earlier this month. The workshop was led by poet Benjamin Myers (who’s great!). The assignment was to make a poem from 1) a memory, 2) a fact he’d printed off Google, and 3) a description of this morning.
When she sang lead and everyone said, “Your
daughter is so great!” I agreed.
Yes, she does light up a stage, doesn’t she?
I sat in their thanks. Basked in her glow
as if I were King Charles II
who rubbed dust from pharoah mummies
to absorb their ancient greatness.
This morning when I walked the dogs in the dark
I couldn’t find the moon.
Too early for the sun, sure,
but the moon should’ve shown up.
The moon is great
as the sun is great as the pharoahs are great and great
was dusty King Charles.
Rest in peace, mummies.
King, wash your hands.
Sleep in sweet sun as long as you wish.
And moon. You’re still up there. Show yourself.