Camp NaNoWriMo Day 6: Another World Over

One of the things I love about poetry is its ability to help you look at things with a new perspective. And one of the things I love about NaNoWriMo is how it gets me up and writing when I would rather be sleeping…

 

Another World Over

a poem by Lauren Hallstrom

 

The cells in her body are brushing up

against each other in greeting;

they are lauding their own work

and singing their neighbors’ praises.

The neurons are reaching out,

reaching out and speaking.

They want her to move

more, feel

more, be

more.

They are loving the body they are in.

They will live and die for her.

She is a machine made to succeed.

 

Her epithelial cells know the importance

of keeping separate.

Her skeletal muscle cells are tugging.

Osteocytes are soaking up and reshaping,

because bone is stronger when stress is placed upon it.

She doesn’t know how strong she is.

 

What the cells don’t know is that today is Monday

and her work week has begun,

and the red blood cells are dancing through

their routes anyway.

Sometimes she doesn’t know herself.

Sometimes she feels she is a being

made up of a hundred trillion others.

 

Her platelets are making eggshell art.

Her stem cells are knitting a scarf.

Her white blood cells are brushing up

on their checkers and hide-and-seek

and wishing every once in a while,

if only for a second,

that a virus would find its way in,

just so they can show her

how they fight.

 

 

 

Camp NaNoWriMo Day 5: A Hand-washing Limerick

Nothing much new to report today. Have a celebratory end-of-the-week, hand-washing limerick!

 

A Hand-washing Limerick

by Lauren Hallstrom

 

There was a misguided young fellow

Whom college had made rather mellow;

He coughed in his hand

then found the washstand—

His birthday tune wasn’t so swell though!

Day 4 Camp NaNoWriMo: Homemade Glass

Poems are going great, StayHomeWriMo noveling needs some work… And in the vein of social distancing:

 

Homemade Glass

by Lauren Hallstrom

 

I have a friend who lives in a snowglobe—

every day she cleans her side of the glass. She has built herself a town there; you can go ice skating or order a bakery cake or connect to Wi-fi. She is her own architect and cake-baker and postmaster. Every day she sweeps the snow from her garden to find the colors beneath. She doesn’t mind being kept separate because she is kept clean. She cannot contaminate herself. She likes to sip her tea and look out her window, and every so often a hand descends from the sky,

and gives her world

a shake.