It's Still Life

 
Periodic

I’m reading the Periodic Tables.
I learned all this useless stuff
in school, but forgot it all.
Anyway, it seems that I am
a saline nothingness,
a chip off the moon,
a muddy spring day,
I am mundane, maiming,
an uneaten fruit,
the sound of speech,
a comforter, comforting,
dusty, flaking,
bone white as summer sun,
and very possibly descended
from something slow
in green standing water.

It’s National Poetry Write Month, which explains the surge in activity. I’m following three different sites generating daily prompts. Writers’ Digest Poetic Asides, the National Poetry Writing Month website (NaPoWriMo) and my old friend, Walt, over at Gnomes. All of these pieces are drafts.