day 19: M U D
a poem a day in the month of may
I’d love to know: what has been your favorite poetry prompt so far this month? What are you learning about yourself?
Today’s word is mud. Can’t wait to see where this takes you!
He walked in the door
caked in mud.
I couldn’t see
anything but his eyes,
looking down at his shoes,
caked in mud, too.
After a few moments of silence
his eyes met mine,
nine year old meeting
adult, childhood
meeting sophistication.
I wondered at the best response,
wondered what it means to be
an adult in a world
full of kids caked in mud.
I stopped myself, took a breath
and remembered the child in me,
what she’d do if she came home
caked in mud and her eyes
cast down at her own two feet.
I ran to him, grabbed him,
hugged him, laughed,
let it all go, all the
sophistication and the meetings,
all the adulthood sliding
off my own body as the mud
caked covered me, too.
I pulled his head back,
my hands on his face.
He cracked a smile,
lines showing up around
the corners of his eyes.
Mud is a cleanser.
Mud brings us home.
Mud teaches us who we are
and who we are not.
When I was younger,
I used to spend hours making
mud pies and potions;
sitting in the cool
shade with the earth in my hands
my most pressing task.
Mud.
A brown, thick, viscous slurry.
In the movies it traps people in its mire.
In ads it’s an abhorrence only removed by the strongest high-priced detergent.
And yet.
I remember.
A long walk with my short-legged white Bichon Frise
after a bitter winter trapped together in the house.
He comes home
exhausted by the joyous romp.
I think I should be troubled by the mess -
But I’m not.
Sounds of boyish giggles as two boys slip and slide through the sprinkler’s shower on my front lawn.
They wipe the mud from their eyes
And then smear it on each other’s chests.
I’m not sure whose grin is bigger.
Mud.
Release after a long winter.
Laughter in the summer’s heat.
A symbol of spring, renewal.
A reminder of joy.