MQ20: I Must Be Mistaken
My mother was a kind of wildness.
A kind of smoke from a burning bush.
Not THE Burning Bush, although
as a girl I thought she was.
In reality, she was a concussion from
banging her head against a brick wall
(or so she said, or nearly so).
And I often interrupted myself with
“Oh, I must be mistaken.”
Like when I watched the boy next door
flying a balloon, but Mum said,
“No, that’s a cook with a shaved head,”
so I said, “Oh, I must be mistaken,”
and she seemed happy with that.
MQ20: working with smells, senses, places, emotions, and then combining them to inspire a poem. I was working with: matches, sulphur, bonfire, smoke, pine, fir trees, woodshed, blimps, balloons. And dVerse Surrealism in Poetry. ©️ Misky 2019 It’s November Poem a Day month. These are 1st drafts