Abecedarian for 24 hours in Idaho

The “blurry deer” in question is actually a Nyala (photo courtesy of my husband). I love how the rain on the glass makes it look like an old painting.

My thanks to

Kortney Garrison

for sending out an abecedarian challenge via this Note. I LOVE how a shared prompt brings us together and sends new poems out into the world.

Speaking of which, poet

Tara Connor

has launched a second Substack called

The Public Domain Poetry Project

and I think it’s going to be amazing. Her description: “I’ll pick a poem in the public domain - a beloved classic, a little known gem, a cringy howler that’s due some reimagining. Then we’ll treat each line like a poetry prompt, a jumping off point for a new poem. Maybe you stick with the theme of the poem. Maybe you take an entirely new direction. Maybe you rearrange the words in the line to say something completely different. No hard and fast rules. Possibilities are the point.” If that sounds fun, I hope you join in!

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A flurry of texts and photos
bounces between Boise and Lake Forest Park
counting the things my husband 
did while getting sworn in for Idaho
(even though we’re not moving there).

First he sent a picture of a domed building at 8:21am,
gathered clouds swirling around an empty flag pole.
Hard evidence of a hearty breakfast came next
(I’m known for begging him to eat eat eat):

jars of jelly crowding the counter edge
knotted tie thrown over one shoulder
lavishing his pancakes with syrup
making the dark coffee a little lighter.

Next, a grinning snap in front of the Great Seal
of the State: a draped woman, a farmer, Esto
Perpetua, bounteous wheat and crops pouring 
quietly from cornucopias at their feet.

Renovations continue at our house, the drill
sending down a shower of dust, while the next
text reads, “I’m at the Basque Museum.” The stylized 
U’s and E’s of the attached arborglyph spell secret words.

Veering abruptly into nature, he sends a blurry image of
what first looks like a deer, bent with burden, the elegant
X of her legs too narrow to hold up such an oblong body.
Yellow-lit, she glances back at the camera. “I’m at the Boise
Zoo. Ten dollar admission.” He ends with a pic of a red-faced bird.