In 2012, Irene Latham conceived of the collaborative poem, a poem built day by day, written line by line by thirty different authors throughout the month of April. Irene passed the baton to Margaret Simon in 2020, and under her guiding hands, the collaborative poem continues to flourish.

It’s always such a pleasure and inspiration to watch this poem take shape through the month, moving from one author to the next. This month’s poem has taken us along a literal journey as well, with our narrator and sibling, Manu. I’ve been watching more closely as it neared my sphere. How in the world would this journey unfold? How could I, from my comfortable perch in the world, do justice to these stalwart souls and their hopeful, painful journey? As Heidi Mordhorst mentioned in her post, “This poem has STAKES!” I’m thankful for those who have guided the poem along to me and found some sanctuary for our heroes. I’ve added my two lines in bold.

Here’s the poem so far:

cradled in stars, our planet sleeps,
clinging to tender dreams of peace
sister moon watches from afar,
singing lunar lullabies of hope.

almost dawn, I walk with others,
keeping close, my little brother.
hand in hand, we carry courage
escaping closer to the border

My feet are lightning;
My heart is thunder.
Our pace draws us closer
to a new land of wonder.

I bristle against rough brush—
poppies ahead brighten the browns.
Morning light won’t stay away—
hearts jump at every sound.

I hum my own little song
like ripples in a stream
Humming Mami’s lullaby
reminds me I have her letter

My fingers linger on well-worn creases,
shielding an address, a name, a promise–
Sister Moon will find always us
surrounding us with beams of kindness

But last night as we rested in the dusty field,
worries crept in about matters back home.
I huddled close to my brother. Tears revealed
the no-choice need to escape. I feel grown.

Leaving all I’ve ever known
the tender, heavy, harsh of home.
On to maybes, on to dreams,
on to whispers we hope could be.

But I don’t want to whisper! I squeeze Manu’s hand.
“¡Más cerca ahora!” Our feet pound the sand.
We race, we pant, we lean on each other
I open my canteen and drink gratefully

Thirst is slaked, but I know we’ll need
more than water to achieve our dreams.
Nights pass slowly, but days call for speed
through the highs and the lows, we live with extremes

We enter a village the one from Mami’s letter,
We find the steeple; food, kindly people, and shelter.
“We made it, Manu! Mami would be so proud!”
I choke back a sob, then stand tall for the crowd.

A slapping of sandals… I wake to the sound
of ¡GOL! Manu’s playing! The fútbol rebounds.
I pinch myself. Can this be true?
Are we safe at last? Is our journey through?

Next stop on the Progressive Poem is over to…..

April 25 Joanne Emery at Word Dancer
April 26 Karin Fisher-Golton at Still in Awe
April 27 Donna Smith at Mainly Write
April 28 Dave at Leap of Dave
April 29 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 30 Michelle Kogan at More Art for All