A Hundred Days

Poems, now, for a hundred days, a hundred ways
of expressing feelings at times so deep
I have to use a shovel; other times just
random thoughts I can pick up off the floor
like someone's cast-off gum wrapper. I really ought
to celebrate this centesimal, if only because
I'd never heard the word before.
Other milestones will emerge, heavier with
meaning, dripping with emotional attachment,
wearing fancier clothes than this, a nicer hairdo. 
It's important to celebrate often, but today has enough
just because, without a hundredth poem:
The way palm trees are dancing in the breeze. 
The way you say my name.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012