Now to the real business of the day, my 40th poem in as many days. I started doing this whole thing as a journey of personal enlightenment. I am not even LYING when I say this small block of 40 days has been one of the strangest periods of my entire life. And as 25 year olds go I've had a pretty weird life. Not braggin', jus' sayin' yo.
So I guess I really have learnt a lot. I've realised that I have the best gang of friends a gal could ever hope to find, and you're all perfect in your own imperfect ways. This has all been for you. I mean, not really, I literally just said it was very personal, but you know...what I'm trying to say is, thanks for being there and shit.
I wrote this poem way back at the start of the challenge and have been gently tweaking it throughout the whole process. It's aaaaall about personal enlightenment, so rather fitting. It's almost as though I planned it. Imagine that, me, forward planning! What on EARTH.
Anyway, this is the end. OR IS IT? DAY 40.
The Minus Owl
I
On the third
day
the owl flew
out to me.
“Any milk
today?” it said.
“Don’t mock
me,” I said.
“And those
feathers aren’t fooling anyone.”
“Axe to
grind?”
“How can I
take you seriously?” I said,
adjusting my
noose.
The owl
clicked its beak
and rode off
on the sound.
II
I picked up a
stone
and cursed
it.
“There, now
you won’t ever be loved.”
And I threw
it back in the dirt
where it came
from.
III
On the tenth
day,
the owl flew
out to me.
“What do you
hate?” it said.
“When you’re
playing a game,” I said.
“And somebody
cheats.”
“What’s a
game?”
“A party I’m
not invited to,” I said.
I looked off
wistfully.
The owl laughed
its way
out of the
scene.
IV
I spent a whole
day
putting
different wigs on a whale.
“What you
need to understand is, I’m unemployed.”
I heard that
whale
works in
Hollywood now.
V
On the
eighteenth day
the owl flew
out to me.
“What do you
want?” it said.
“Just a mile
or so of solidity,” I said.
“Something to
keep me going.”
“Where are
you going?”
“Where have
you been?” I said,
remembering
how scared I was.
The owl
nodded,
getting into
a car.
VI
I picked
through the rubble,
looking for
artefacts.
“I’m really starting
to appreciate the dust of a place.”
I wrote my
name with a stick,
seeing it exist
for the first time in years.
VII
On the last
day,
the owl flew
out to me.
“What do you
have?” it said.
“My body,” I
said.
“And the
teeth of a survivor.”
“What did you
ever survive?”
“Life,” I
said. “At least this long.”
I held out my
arms, shaping the years.
The owl gave a
hoot
and was gone.
