For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "And then (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Some example titles could be: "And then Godzilla attacked Tokyo," "And then McDonald's opened a store on the moon," "And then nothing," "And then everything," "And then you probably have an even better idea for a poem title," etc.


And then they moved

It was a book I wasn't meant to look into
Not personal, exactly, but not for me.
He had shipped it from overseas and prepared it carefully
to help his client envision the pieces in her house.
Her needs were all so considered.
Even pictures of the house were there - the white walls, with artwork
carefully superimposed and a large model boat in front, illuminated,
white as a dove.

On top of each page, balancing on the thin edge
was something to describe that model below:
a chocolate above the cocoa-colored row boat,
a feather above the fast-tilted, trimmed skiff,
a shell (crushed in the shipping)
its many pieces caught for a moment in my hand as I turned the page
above the bright-white, round-keeled sailboat I was drawn to.

The craftsmanship was fantasic - in book and boat.
And then
As I looked at this one from left
it turned vaguely right and the light
reflected from somewhere streaked fast
around the wooden running boards.
As I looked at it from the right it came around
and caught a velocity of wind I didn't know could be on a page
and the port side turned peach - pearlescent,
a light, gentle, I've sailed through in the Bay.

I leaned my body at a pitch
and the page fluttered and the model boat
sailed fast off the picture plane
and I brought it back with a strong lean right
and it sailed through its image

parting the ordinary world
and passing comfortably through the living room
over the stuffed leather couch disappearing
behind the high black polished bookcase
in which another smaller boat sat docked, motionless
illuminated,
like a dove,
bright-white.

I knew I should not sign for the book even
but leave it as I found it. Deeper sunset colors took
the pages and the light clanging tap of jib lines
against the masts (a favorite sound) escaped
just as I closed the book and slipped it back in its
original wrapping: a distressed wooden box,
simple, tied with a rope, softened by time

Beautiful thing, in part and whole

I kept my head tilted for the rest of the day
believing in magic, not doubting it now,
thankful for the blessing of the talent of others.