SG gave me a writing prompt without knowing it, which quickly turned into a poem, which quickly turned into a poem that I couldn’t complete, which then turned into a poem about writing a poem I couldn’t complete.
I’m sitting very still while these wolves circle the tree, and
wonder how I got up here, with so much moss on the trunk
I apparently scrambled up.
I hold my breath and watch, staring
down as they circle, paw prints making a ring in the snow,
to border my last stand.
I’m left to wonder how I’ll get
down. And I wonder if it was such a good idea
to hit the biggest one on the nose with my stick.
Because now I’m in this tree. And they’re
down there. And they keep pacing around
and around, licking their chops, ready.
And I’m still up here, stuck, trying to
finish this poem, left to wonder what I was thinking
when I started.
I hit the idea on the nose, and leaped to
begin, without really knowing
how, or where, it was going