NaPoWriMo Day 18: A prose poem based on another poem’s title from Susan G. Wooldridge’s Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words. I chose the poem The Ginkgo. For AprilPAD write an ekphrastic poem, which is the Found poem from the Bosch micro-image.
There comes a point, as a child, when your view opens to a whole new horizon. I was about 10, certainly not much more, and Dad said, Ready, girls? and we shouted back, Yes! You see there’s a certain plateau near the Columbia River that feels like you’re going to fly off the edge of the earth, but of course you’re not, there’s a road, and it’s steeper than anything I’ve ever seen before or since, and Dad’s driving the car at the speed of wind, and we girls are in the back seat, screaming, as if someone is trying to steal our voices, and then there’s that first dip that defies your stomach’s gravity, and we’re groaning like old millstones, and then we’re off like the wind again to the next dip, and my sister and I collapse into each other, laughing. And Mum says pull over, and Dad knows not to argue, and she jumps out of the car and leans over a bush. Now all this is leading to Dad stopping a few hundred feet down the road at a rest area so Mum can freshen up. Dad and we girls go for a little walk amongst lots of logs strewn about, and he says the logs were trees, and they’re 16-million years old. Before the ice age. Dinosaurs. Cavemen. And their many wives. Before TV, which was a relatable timeline. They’re called Ginkgo trees, he said. Petrified. Stone. He knocks his knuckle on one. We do the same, just because he always do what he does. I remember turning to look back up that steep road that seemed to spill out of the clouds. One day, I assumed, I wouldn’t scream with laughter on a steep hill as if someone was trying to steal my voice – I’d just groan like a millstone and chuck my stomach into the bushes like Mum. I decided that nobody was going to steal my voice.
© Misky 2021