Well, everyone, I’m happy to say that I’ve made it to the end of November’s Poem-a-Day challenge! It’s definitely been difficult, but I managed to write thirty new poems over the course of a month. I’ll probably share another post later with all the things I’ve learned over the last thirty days, but for now I hope you enjoy these last poems!
Day 22: Praise
We huddle together and suddenly
I am thankful for weather
that pushes us closer
and draws from us clouds
of visible thought.
We speak, and the words condense
and cool, they rise and vanish,
replaced by the next exhale,
and the next.
Day 23: I Can’t ___
“I Can’t Remember…”
The last time I slept without trying
to number my anxious thoughts,
scouring the corners of every conversation,
replaying the nuances of each interaction.
It doesn’t matter how many times
I command my heart to be still,
these aimless sheep refuse to be counted.
Shepherd my heart, O Lord,
to the pastures of rest.
Day 24: Salty
“Bodleian Ode”
There’s a certain thrill
to collecting your books
from the reading room desk
and carrying the stack
to a table in the sun,
stepping softly where the floors
squeak. It’s no surprise
they made you swear
an oath to get in.
They, like you
are part of the great fraternity
of seekers who know
that every book you request
has travelled through time
and revolution
and resistance
not to mention tunnels
and salt mines
and countless hands
to arrive in the Radcliffe Camera
so that you could turn
the page.
Day 25: Take a line from a previous poem and make it the title
“Who We Are”
The skins were still warm
when He stitched them together
and clothed me in another’s sacrifice.
Is this who we are now–
exiles and wanderers?
I feel the curse we wrought
in every breath and glance,
but we must go forward;
angels with swords
guard the way back.
So we enter the world together,
holding on to each other,
hearts heavy with the hope
of a serpent-crusher
who comes to dress us in white
and lead us to the garden again.
Day 26: “Ambitious”
Mrs. Macbeth enters the room
on the arm of her husband.
It is early days yet,
and they are young.
They cut a fine figure–
her dark glamor
and his imperious stare
draw whispers from the gathered thanes.
In the medieval light
the rubies on her fingers glisten,
they color her hands red.
Her husband’s eyes never leave her face,
and she knows it.
Day 27: Shaky
When fear shakes me awake
from an unsteady sleep
and my heart holds me fast
in a storm of doubt,
teach me to listen instead
to the softer, surer voice
of the one who sees me
even in the dark.
Day 28: Mood
Did you know
that kids these days
are saying things like yeet?
And everything is either
a mood or a meme.
I want to be offended
by these linguistic desecrations,
but they are changing
the vernacular of my heart
and teaching me English
in its many-splendored forms.
Day 29: Remix an Earlier Poem
The readiness is all,
so we venture out
into the day
armed with umbrellas,
pleasantly surprised
to find the sun
instead.
Day 30: Another ___
“Another Poem”
I didn’t think I could write
another poem.
I thought all my words
were gone.
But it turns out poetry
is like the rain
that falls everywhere
all at once.
And there you have it! Thirty drafts in thirty days. If you missed the other poems, you can find them here:
Thanks to everyone who has followed along and given me such encouraging feedback. It’s always scary to put creative work out into the world!
Keep Reading,
Sarah
Book Fifty 
Your poetry is amazing! Thoughts, to words, to beauty…what a precious gift.
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