I am not strictly on prompt today. This is the set task for NaPoWriMo2017. “In 1958, the philosopher/critic Gaston Bachelard wrote a book called The Poetics of Space, about the emotional relationship that people have with particular kinds of spaces – the insides of sea shells, drawers, nooks, and all the various parts of houses. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores a small, defined space – it could be your childhood bedroom, or the box where you keep old photos.”
It’s doubtful this poem would qualify, but it did spark the conclusion for how to address a subject I have wanted to introduce to a poem for years. And I have got a serious crush on the elevenie since Sunday’s challenge. A new way of “tricking around with words,” as my friend Christine beautifully describes the process.
I do still have those gloves in a box. They will probably make their way into an art project at some stage. The right collage are just crying out for them. Not even children have hands that small anymore. And this from a woman who has to buy kid’s ‘magic gloves’ so that winter woolies will fit her own abnormally tiny hands.
My Grandmother’s Kidskin Gloves
Gloves
Kidskin tight
Inherited from Mom
They would only fit
Me
Grandmother
Outgrew them
As did I
No one wears kidskin
Anymore
Mementos
Keep close
Those left behind
On my many travels
Alone
My Grandmother and her brother photographed around the time I was born
