From the back cover of Camille T. Dungy’s 2017 poetry collection TROPHIC CASCADE:
…these poems are written in the face of despair to hold a commitment to hope…
I continue to pull writing prompts from Dungy’s words.
If you’d like to read my poems inspired by her book SOIL: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden:
Find April 12 through April 14 here.
Find April 8 through April 11 here.
Find April 3 through April 7 here.
Find April 1 and 2 here.
April 17, 2024
I will wait for you
borrowing Dungy’s form from “Ultrasound”
I will wait for you as the mourning dove waits
for dawn’s streak, a new day’s hope
heavy in feathered breast
her song begins. I will wiat, as I wait
to understand a mother’s work.
I will wait for you, as a desert waits
on shade; wait for you as hare
waits on the creosote. I will wait for you,
as I wait through all the needles.
I will wait for unstinging.
I will wait as the new moon waits. I will
wait as forest duff for winter snow.
The flag for wind. The lips
for words. I will wait. I will wait,
untangling knots, for the story’s end.
As I wait for uncurled sprout of hollyhock
spring green stem of life rushing
hidden, I will wait for you. I will
wait as your empty arms will wait,
unacquainted with the sculptor’s chisel.
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
April 15, 2024
history*
nest smaller, sturdy
court constant leave
stuckness visits dead lichen
once them old
black daily elections
safety, sanity torn
–remember
oxygen yard recipe
encouraged chains
little changed
–surprise
webs long-gone
my winter overheated
plastic held precious
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
a found poem from “Natural History” by Camille T. Dungy
Trophic Cascade, Wesleyan University Press, 2017
you can read the full poem here:
https://www.bostonreview.net/articles/camille-t-dungy-natural-history/
April 16, 2024
It seems every one is silvered, dead, until we learn to see the living –
I see you
I see you rolly-polly
rumbling across a spring sidewalk
pillar of midges in a late afternoon ecstatic dance
pale yellow princess, the prickly pear’s joy
mess of a nest makes sense only to the home bird
behold the blade-balanced dew drop
mirror to my morning
before I see you, I hear you
clack-clacking scooter
schoolgirl bedecked in black and white checked backpack
zipping past me to her own day
when we see, we let life in
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 