I’ve Caught You?

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye Margaret Atwood

***

What did I do wrong

that you consider me a fish hook?

Always a button to my hole,

Why do you think ill of me now?

I’m sorry

if I made you feel like a trapped fish.

You were always free.

Now, I’m a fisherman–

you’re my catch? Why?

***

I was inspired to write the above poem by a prompt on the Washington state poet laureate’s site which involves responding to another poem. The poem I answered and quoted above by Margaret Atwood caught my fancy during a lecture by poet Jane Elkington Wohl about understanding poetry. To hear me read it and my response, click here.

***

Abbie J. Taylor 010Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

Front Book Cover - We Shall OvercomeWe Shall Overcome

Cover: How to Build a Better Mousetrap by Abbie Johnson TaylorHow to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

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Satisfaction Like a Sated Cat

Today’s poem was inspired by the video prompt at http://wapoetlaureate.org/2015/04/16/poetry-for-all-prompt-3/ . Click on the Dropbox link below the poem to hear me read it.

 

SATISFACTION LIKE A SATED CAT

 

She lies with you on the bed,, content,

purrs as you stroke her head, shoulders back,

rub her tummy, enjoy her fur’s softness,

press your cheek against her.

You have no regrets, no desires,

no need to apologize or forgive.

Let her warmth and love surround you,

as the day draws to a close.

 

https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/15213189/satisfaction%20like%20a%20sated%20cat.mp3

 

Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author

 

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Two Years After My Husband’s Passing

Today’s poem was inspired by the video prompt at https://vimeo.com/123576629 . This is the second in a series of prompts posted at http://wapoetlaureate.org/ . .

 

TWO YEARS AFTER MY HUSBAND’s PASSING

 

In his mid-60’s, the same age as when we met, with gray hair, sunglasses,

he takes the seat next to me at the ball park.

I half expect him to say, “Hello sweetie.”

Instead, he asks in his familiar, lilting voice

if I’m a Colorado Rockies fan.

I say yes, intent on the game.

 

My cousin whispers that he looks like Bill.

I ignore her, ask if he knows the score

since I can’t read the board with my limited vision.

He says it’s 0-5 with the opposing team ahead.

We listen, watch in silence,

 

sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at the seventh inning stretch.

He offers to bring me something to eat.

I say I’ll go with him,

stand, take his arm, allow him to guide me,

 

marvel that his blind eyes can now see in death,

and he no longer walks with a limp.

We purchase our food and drinks, return to our seats.

 

The opposing team creams the Rockies 12-3.

As we’re getting ready to leave, we shake hands.

He says he’ll see me around,

walks away–I take my cousin’s arm.

We file out of the stadium.

 

Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author

 

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