stir me with wind
gathering like storms
setting water droplets
upon air, like breath.
call me beetle bright
oil slick remembered
momentarily still.
i’m nothing words
and all the words
and you’re still here.
gather me in a basket
to set upon a table
and i’ll sing for you.
*81/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. All photos are mine.
What a beautifully mysterious poem. It feels like something fragile and fleeting being stirred into existence by wind, breath, colour, and words.
I was especially drawn to “I’m nothing words / and all the words / and you’re still here.” There is something quietly profound in those lines—the idea that words may be fleeting, yet somehow they leave a presence behind.
I’m so glad you like this one. Yeah, that’s my favorite stanza too.
“i’m nothing words
and all the words
and you’re still here.”
Excellent handful of lines. It says everything that anyone needs to know about the rest of the poem, the key hidden in plain sight.
Almost there, Bridgette! How are you going to celebrate? By writing poem 101? 🙂
Aww! Thanks so much, Michael. Probably will keep writing poems daily, honestly, but not sure I’ll post them everyday. We shall see.
There is such a quiet, delicate presence to this piece—it really feels like a fragile moment stirred into being by breath and memory. Loved Michael’s joke in the comments too—are you going to celebrate with poem #101? Keep going strong, Bridgette!
Aww! Thank you for these kind words. Not sure I’ll be posting daily again after these 100 days, but I do rather like the habit of writing a daily poem. It’s difficult somedays, but it pushes me to look at words, to check in with how I’m feeling, and to finish something—all things I’m working on.
That daily check-in with yourself and finishing a piece every single day is such a powerful discipline! Post-100 days or not, building that relationship with writing is a huge win. Cheering you on through the home stretch! 👏
Ah the poet lays herself out as literary sacrifice! love it.
So glad you like it! Thank you.
Beautifully delicate and elusive. I loved the sense of something momentarily gathered out of air and memory, only to end with that wonderfully tender promise: “and I’ll sing for you.”
So glad you like this one, it’s one of my favorites, I think 🙂