Out of Practice

Kicking off National Poetry Month 2011 this morning with a new poem on an old theme. Ironically, I was just going to write one line, but once the image took me, I couldn't stop. Now, gotta get to work!

Out of Practice

The door creaks
on rusty hinges.
Flimsy webs flicker
at my cheek, ghost
kisses shivering me
in the cold
April half-light.
I reach for the cord,
and pull, illuminating
dust. (My lord, so much
of it. Where does it come from?)
Beneath the dull mantle
of disuse, I spy (perhaps)
a familiar tool
or two.
I clumsy up my fingers
in gloves stiffened with mud and time.
Grab a spade, a rake, a set of shears.
Knock it off.
Shake it out.
Shine it up.
It's time.
Things need to grow.

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