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Day 1

Day 1!  It’s here!  I decided yesterday to challenge myself and am beginning today. I didn’t give myself time to think about it, decide on themes to write about, make an outline, didn’t even really think about what I want the finished challenge to look like.  I still don’t really even have a fully formed notion of the end result.  Every days post will either be “Same stuff, different day” or will be as much a surprise to you as it will be to me.

I’ve always wanted to write an ode though.  Haven’t you?  You don’t even have to know what the word means for it to sound important and romantic.  An Ode to Love  or The Warrior’s Ode.  Just the made-up titles prime your emotions for the awesomeness held within.  Someone should definitely write those.  I decided last night that I’d write an ode for Day 1 of my challenge.  Two birds, one stone.  The only problem was I didn’t know exactly what an ode was.  So I Googled it this morning and discovered that it’s  “a poem in which a person expresses a strong feeling of love or respect for someone or something”.  Oh.  I mean, just from the feelings alone that the word “Ode” elicits I could have guessed it meant something like that but….a poem??  :sigh: As the daughter of not one but two poets you’d think an ode would be child’s play for me.  Alas, it is not.  Not, I say! :shakes fist at the sky:

But this is a writing challenge so I’ll soldier on.  Don’t ever expect to read a haiku from me though.  I understand what an ode requires but I don’t understand haiku in the slightest.  Without further ado…

The Mother’s Ode of Loss

O, (all poems start with O, especially odes)

O, to remember what was
And to know what is now.
O, the loss, the loss.
Now I dare not bow.
So full, so round,
The past holds me captive.
My head hangs low
As the memories become combative.
O, to remember what was
And to know what is to come.
O, the gain, the gain.
The blow strikes me numb.
Though a mother of three, three and one.
Avert thine eyes lest you behold –
the number matters not –
this portion so uncontrolled.
O, to remember what was
And to know what will never be.
O, the marks, the marks.
Collagen is my plea.
So lofty, so pert are words of late.
The temptation to parse,
To relive, to cry and howl,
O! O! to mourn the great loss of my arse.