(After “Missing Poems”- Geri *lexpomo2020)

 

All day I searched for poems.

They were not in my coffee cup,

or my usual morning barista’s smile,

nor in my dog licking my feet to wake me

thirty minutes before our alarm.

 

I checked my car floorboard.

Just shredded receipts

and reusable water bottles,

only once used.

I asked the stop light.

I asked the birds

chirping too loud for 6am.

 

I asked the cracked egg

fallen from the nest

and looked at the tiny fetal bird.

I asked it’s crooked legs.

I asked it’s bulging eyes.

I asked it’s translucent skin

with the tiny blue veins.

 

Where do poems go

when they want to hide?