Today, our optional prompt challenges you to write a poem based on a “walking archive.” What’s that? Well, it’s when you go on a walk and gather up interesting thing – a flower, a strange piece of bark, a rock. This then becomes your “walking archive” – the physical instantiation of your walk. If you’re unable to get out of the house (as many of us now are), you can create a “walking archive” by wandering around your own home and gathering knick-knacks, family photos, maybe a strange spice or kitchen gadget you never use. One you’ve finished your gathering, lay all your materials out on a tray table, like museum specimens. Now, let your group of materials inspire your poem! You can write about just one of the things you’ve gathered, or how all of them are all linked, or even what they say about you, who chose them and brought them together.
Stone, paper, knives
19 April 20
1801
Three things spread across my house
They used to be in the same plastic bin
But now they live on separate floors
Where once I lived on a borrowed couch
The oldest is the book I made
As part of a kindergarten class project
Words and illustrations by me
As the teachers provided the format
I now have 5 more books
And somehow knew back then I knew I’d be writing more
There is the Ethiopian constipation man I got back in 93
Soap stone statue on the shores of Mombasa Kenya
A poor replica of the Thinking Man I saw in Paris decades later
He has been a constant companion throughout my travels
He sits atop a dresser in my bedroom
Next to another statue that my wife procured
Her statue is a symbol of our love
My statue is a reminder of what was
Then there is the knives littered around the house
Only one has my own blood upon it
Carving into my flesh one day
After I misplaced my heart
And wanted to end that way
Its hidden from view
Always in the dark
Like some of my thoughts
That creep out at times
And scream for more blood
I think one day I’ll find it
And melt it down in fire
As I melt the desire for self destruction
And find out why I’m still breathing
I’ve tried to live minimally in the past
I’ve moved across the country more than once
Shunning contentment as a weakness
And now shutting myself in for self preservation
As my meager possessions increase
They dont hold the value of these things
These bits of me
When taken together
Providing the story of my existence
Just three things define me
And that is all I need
The stone, the paper and the knives
Are all I have to offer
