2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 1
Welcome to Day 1 of our 2016 daily write-in! This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.
The object of this project is to turn off our inner critics, play with a daily writing practice, and share the results in a community setting.
For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. At the end of the month, I’ll have prizes for the most frequent contributors. However, there’s no obligation to write every day. Drop in as often as you like.
Ready? Let’s get started!
Found: One hundred year-old mailing box.
I purposely left out information about the objects when I posted the prompts. Think of it as a Freedom from Information Act, a way of giving us more space to think, imagine, and play.
Now that our poems are in, let’s find out more about today’s FOUND OBJECT. It was contributed by Robyn Hood Black, who says, “Here is something I found (& bought) in an antique store a while back, and I keep in my studio – just because I love it. It’s a little wooden box that was used to mail something! Over 100 years old.”
Diane Mayr, who blogs at Random Noodling, sent in this poem. I’m a big fan of portrait poems and I love the way Diane creates a character, and hints at her back-story, in this poem.
The Truth of the Matter
I was afraid to open
that wooden box
addressed to me in
an unknown hand.
It came by morning post
on a Tuesday in April.
Its contents shifting
and rustling. Telling
me of a fallen soldier’s
effects? Or of the
sweet-bitter savor
of lemon cream taffy
sent to quicken my
blood in anticipation
of his homecoming kiss?
I tried the whole box/fox/socks angle, but something else wanted to escape from the wooden box and my imagination took over.
Postmark: Valley of the Kings
by Laura Shovan
What’s in the box?
An ancient breath
captured, saved
at Pharaoh’s death.
What’s in the box?
A long-lost curse
in hieroglyphic
picto-verse.
What’s in the box?
I hear creaking.
Are those mummy
fingers sneaking?
What’s in the box?
I’m curious, but
perhaps I’d better
leave it shut.
Jessica Bigi took the call for sensory images to heart. Check out all of the tactile, visual, and scent images in this poem.
Box Of Memories
By Jessica Bigi
Simply a box
Stained from tea
Ginger, nutmeg
Scented cherry wood
A splintered craft
of Grandfather’s hands
Who we’ve never met
Momma’s tearful voice
Saying take only this box
Some jam and bread
Letters I’ve written you
Small carved horses that
Grandfather made
Mint tea, some salted broth
Pictures of Momma and me
My tearful voice saying
Momma please go too
Take this box dear girl
Only one can go so I must stay
I’m too young to understand
Sailed that rain soaked ship
Which smelled of salty grime
My box of precious memories
I brought to share with
An aunt I’ve never meant
her land, my new home, my new life
eating bread with jam
we opened my box
and wiped tears from our eyes
Oh, child how I miss your mother
You have her beautiful eyes
I smiled and hugged my aunt
You have Momma’s hugs and
Beautiful heart, I told her
Here is another box poem that tells a story. I like the way Mary Lee Hahn uses the contents of the box to represent a moment between the past and the future. The object inside takes on an extra layer of meaning.
The Box I Keep at the Back of My Dresser Drawer
I remember
when he sent the new watch
I’d had my eye on.
He was thoughtful that way.
The postman handed me this wooden box
with the address written
in his confident handwriting.
Written before the accident,
when a whole different future lay before us.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016
When I’m working with writers, one of my favorite exercises is to look at an object or work of art and write down all the details of what we can see first. Then, using facts as a diving board, we splash around in our imaginations. Molly Hogan pays careful attention to the details of our found object in this poem.
Wooden Box
By Molly Hogan
Capable hands
held the potential of
raw, green wood,
inspired,
rejecting spoon, platter,
a plethora of options,
crafted a secret-holder,
a box for treasures,
dovetailing corners
fitting the lid precisely
sanding smooth the slivers
and splinters,
adhering paper
with written words
whispering on wood
a destination
that has faded into memory
with the accumulating
patina of time.
Inside the box
echoes of those hands
and unknown treasures,
past and present,
breathe,
stirring dusty molecules
and memories.
You can also check out Molly’s blog post with her poem here.
One of people who has participated in this project every year is Linda Baie of Teacher Dance. Her poem is tied to a specific time in history.
In My Attic Graveyard
Not so romantic anymore.
this dusty box on the attic floor
where mice have had a meal or three.
Something’s gnawed on the corner – See!
Mildew’s set in, the smell has set;
perhaps some days in the sun will get
the box back to its sweet wood smell,
the better ready to show it well.
Mister E.N. Chisholm of Lycoming County
received and paid dear for this precious bounty:
the final effects of his fallen friend,
perished among trees of far Ardennes.
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
Some of you may have noticed the corners of the wooden box, which reveal that — rather than nails — the maker used a dovetail joint to fit the sides together. Margaret Simon (Reflections on the Teche) opens her poem with that detail.
Box
By Margaret Simon
Tongue in groove he tells me
is how they used to do it,
before nails
before cardboard and glue.
This old box
traveled over miles
snow-covered hills,
through the mountains, perhaps.
I slide the wood
across grooves
breathe pine, spicy pipe tobacco,
remember my grandfather’s
stories of the railroad,
how steam would rise above
houses and whistle
his way home.
DAY 2 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
I’ll continue to post responses to FOUND OBJECT 1 as they come in.
See you tomorrow for Day 2.
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